It was sad, it was sad, it was sad. When Betty came back we didn't sing or laugh, or even argue. We sat drinking in the dark, smoking cigarettes, and when we went to sleep, I didn't put my feet on her body or she on mine like we used to. We slept without touching. We had both been robbed.

in the cupboard sits my bottle like a dwarf waiting to scratch out my prayers. I drink and cough like some idiot at a symphony, sunlight and maddened birds are everywhere, the phone rings gamboling its sound against the odds of the crooked sea; I drink deeply and evenly now, I drink to paradise and death and the lie of love.

The crowd is the gathering place of the weakest; true creation is a solitary act.

I'm too careless. I don't put out enough effort. I'm tired.

take a writer away from his typewriter and all you have left is the sickness which started him typing in the beginning

I had no feeling for the things so many others needed.

to fight for each minute is to fight for what is possible within yourself, so that your life and your death will not be like theirs.