Only after he died did I really understand what he meant when he jokingly said "Live fast, die young!"

Self-destruction is the path of poets, making us turn pain into beauty and beauty into pain.

We, who are unloved, must learn to love each other.

To live is much more difficult than it is to survive.

I won't write a happy poem until someone gives me a reason to.

I'm far too cruel for me to ever allow myself happy dreams.

Maybe the reason why people like me don't fit well into society - get through it all like other humans - is because we're poets and artists long before we're human.

Another fun twist of language is that the Swedish word for "weird" could literally be translated as "artsy".

Generalizations are in general both vague and stupid.

I imagine being present at the dawn of an apocalypse would feel somewhat similar to watching the clock tick away on a Sunday night.