By four o'clock, I've discounted suicide in favor of killing everyone else in the entire world instead.

It is good to be a cynic — it is better to be a contented cat — and it is best not to exist at all.

Most of us would rather kill ourselves than be, particularly if who we think we are keeps dying. Many of us do.

When the suicide arrived at the sky, the people there asked him: "Why?" He replied: "Because no one admired me.

I wonder if it will rain after we die. When you kill yourself, you don't know what happens next, afterward.

Sometimes, people trying to commit suicide manage it in a manner that leaves them breathless with astonishment.

No neurotic harbors thoughts of suicide which are not murderous impulses against others redirected upon himself.

That sounds weird: "kill yourself." It makes it sound like you tried to murder someone, only that someone is you.

We don't speak of it, or react to it. Paralyzed in a reality of uncertainty and madness,this is where we are.

To write poetry and to commit suicide, apparently so contradictory, had really been the same, attempts at escape.

So, what are you?""What I am is someone who doesn't want you to jump out of the window. The rest are details.

I don’t demand much. All I expect is for you to love me so much you kill yourself just to get my attention.

Can you do it? When the time comes? When the time comes there will be no time. Now is the time. Curse God and die.

A bind is when you're quadriplegic, suicidal about that and unable to persuade your best friend to murder you.

Forerun thy peers, thy time, and letThy feet, millenniums hence, be set In midst of knowledge, dream'd not yet.