Fantasy was always only a reality waiting to be switched on.

Innocence ain't all it's cracked up to be, you know. Innocent little kids rip the wings off flies, because they don't know any better. That's innocence.

Just because it's imaginary, doesn't mean it's not real.

What is real and what is not — is I don't know and I cannot.

But it turned out life was more like the kind of song the Stones wrote: you didn't get any satisfaction, you took one hit to the body after another, if you were a woman you were a bitch who belonged under someone's thumb, and if you wanted mother's little helper from your dear doctor you better have the silver, take it or leave it, and don't come crying for sympathy, that was just for the devil.

It is my opinion that the isolated mind loses its purchase on reality all too easily and becomes prone to fantasy.