Lawyers, doctors, plumbers, they all made the money. Writers? Writers starved. Writers suicided. Writers went mad.

That was all a man needed: hope. It was lack of hope that discouraged a man.

I guess the only time most people think about injustice is when it happens to them.

I sit here drunk now. I am a series of small victories and large defeats and I am as amazed as any other that I have gotten from there to here without committing murder or being murdered; without having ended up in the madhouse. as I drink alone again tonight my soul despite all the past agony thanks all the gods who were not there for me then.

Can you remember who you were, before the world told you who you should be?

writing about a writer's block is better than not writing at all

being alone never felt right. sometimes it felt good, but it never felt right.