He had long nostril hairs, powerfully intimidating, like an unscheduled nightmare.

I carry death in my left pocket. Sometimes I take it out and talk to it: "Hello, baby, how you doing? When you coming for me? I'll be ready.

‎"she’ mad but she’ magic. there’ no lie in her fire.

He asked, "What makes a man a writer?" "Well," I said, "it's simple. You either get it down on paper, or jump off a bridge.

I was their bar freak, they needed me to make themselves feel better. just like, at times, I needed that graveyard.

When a hot woman meets a hermit one of them is going to change.

You've got to know when to let a woman go if you want to keep her,and if you don't want to keep her you let her go anyhow so it's always a process of letting go, one way or the other.