There doesn't seem to be any tomorrow. Every time I wake up, no matter in what position, it's always been today.

Some are masters of illusions, some are ministers of trade, all under the same delusion, all their beds unmade.

I'm not the kind of cat that's going to cut off an ear if I can't do something.

It will scramble your head and drag your brain about, sometimes you gotta do like Elvis did and shoot the damn thing out.

What looks large from a distance, close up ain’t never that big.

You use to ride on the chrome horse with your diplomat, who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat.

They can't hurt me. Sure, they can crush you and kill you. They can lay you out on 42nd and Broadway and put hoses on you and flush you in the sewers and put you on the subway and carry you out to Coney island and bury you on the Ferris wheel. But I refuse to sit here and worry about dying.