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.

there must be a way. surely there must be a way that we have not yet thought of. who put this brain inside of me? it cries it demands it says that there is a chance. it will not say "no.

The streets were full of insane & dull people. Most of them lived in nice houses and didn't seem to work, and you wondered how they did it.

All a guy needed was a chance. Somebody was alway controlling who got a chance and who didn't.

in this room the hours of love still make shadows.

The Difference Between Art and Life is that Art is More Bearable

We don’t even ask happiness, just a little less pain.