Only the boring get bored

my greatest problem was stamps, envelopes, paper and wine, with the world on the edge of World War II.

I took no pride in my solitude; but I was dependent on it. The darkness of the room was like sunlight to me.

Sundays kill more people than bombs.

you've got to burn straight up and down and then maybe sidewise for a while and have your guts scrambled by a bully and the demonic ladies, you've got to run along the edge of madness teetering, you've got to starve like a winter alleycat, you've go to live with the imbecility of at least a dozen cities, then maybe maybe maybe you might know where you are for a tiny blinking moment.

Each man's hell is in a different place: mine is just up and behind my ruined face.

News travels fast in places where nothing much ever happens.