It's not the large things that send a man to the madhouse... no, it's the continuing series of small tragedies... not the death of his love but the shoelace that snaps with no time left.

I just want a hot cup of coffee,black,and I don’t want to hear about your troubles.

If you're going to try, go all the way. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives, jobs and maybe your mind.

If I stop writing I am dead. And that's the only way I'll stop: dead.

Love is a form of prejudice. You love what you need, you love what makes you feel good, you love what is convenient. How can you say you love one person when there are ten thousand people in the world that you would love more if you ever met them? But you'll never meet them.

I'm not the cruel type, but they are, and that's the secret.

I've never met another man I'd rather be.