Arthur Nersesian Quotes

If I want to build wealth to transfer to the next generation, I can let it grow on a tax-free basis.

Finally life becomes a very specific thing
and that's what we are. Ultimately, looking back, I'm beginning to believe that we need to always be fucked up. We need to always have some reason to hate ourselves, something to make us feel eternally incomplete.

I lay in bed and watched moments break into phenomenal particles of panic and could actually see the divine crack of God's ass as he completely turned his back on me.

The masses-I love em-they rush for red lights, risking everything to capture a few seconds, only to get home and waste their lives.

As the components of your life are stripped away, after all the ambitions and hopes vaporize, you reach a self-reflective starkness
the repetitious plucking of a single overwound string.

Although I didn't write myself off as a complete failure, all illusion and romance was gone. I was no longer able to inflate myself; I had disappointed my own expectations and was genuinely worried about dying in the streets.

In the dark jaws, where all things tumble, where societies crumble and old men stumble, love is the air we breathe, the earth we walk on, the economy we function in. It's not a passion or a fixation or a desire or a guilt. Love should have been a conduct, a process of life, an axiom, a grandeur we evolve ... Its connective nature, its transferal powers, make utter sense.

Is it so wrong to just live life and enjoy it? Between fun and function, why must we choose the latter?

Once, as a teenager, I had believed that people could change themselves. Finally I realized that all one could ever hope was understanding one's filthy self better.

Stressful jobs, loveless marriages, bad food-most people kill themselves slowly every day.

When I was in my teens, I made an appraisal of how comfortable my life could turn out when I became the age I am now. Because of a mechanical failure, the prediction was inexact.

Some of the more industrious ones were washing the windshields of cars that had been trapped by the red light. I used to see them from inside cars and think they brought it on themselves, and they probably did but now it didn't make a difference. I went over to the fire and warmed my hands with the group. I looked at their faces: idiots, criminals, retards, schizophrenics, paranoids, rejects, fuck-ups, broken-down failures. Alone, once children, never asked to be put on this earth, they ended up as jurors. Their lives were the verdict: the system, the man, something had failed.

Perhaps the price of comfort is that life passes more rapidly. But for anyone who has lived in uneasiness, even for a short, memorable duration, it's a trade-off that will gladly be made.