A Flower Grows in Hell

Me and the boys went the other night. It was raining. We caught the city bus and rode all the way through Eastbridge Tunnel. Sad Mary was already on top; she gave me one of her dead lilies.

I love the tunnel – so dark, so gloomy. There are no eyes in its darkness; I can relax there. Only there does the voice leave me alone.

I got hung up for a bit watching this Skinner kid carefully eat a sticky bun he'd been given. He was eating it so slowly, so passionately that I could almost taste it myself. I touched him and got that lightheaded feeling I always do when I touch kids. It didn't take long before I found what I was looking for. The taste of that bun flowed across my tongue. The sugar, the pecans, the cinnamon: pure delight. I got a rush from it, sitting there, my arm snaking through the window of the bus, my hand right inside the kid's head. Mary had to shake a rush off me; otherwise I probably would've fallen of the bus.

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"Wraith: The Storytelling Game of Death and Damnation", promotional leaflet, Dragon Magazine 2007, July 1994

Nienawiść totalna

Kiedy nienawidzimy prawdziwie jesteśmy bezkrytyczni zarówno względem nas samych, jak względem tego, czego nienawidzimy, albowiem być krytycznym to umieć różnicować, a nienawiść odbiera nam wszelką zdolność do różnicowania. Przeciwstawia naszą totalną i bezwarunkową słuszność równie totalnej, bezwarunkowej i nieuleczalnej nikczemności innych.

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Cytat z Leszka Kołakowskiego w artykule Adama Michnika "Mowa pogrzebowa nad grobem IV Rzeczpospolitej", Gazeta Wyborcza na Nowy Rok 2008