I remember awakening one morning and finding everything smeared with the color of forgotten love.

He had long nostril hairs, powerfully intimidating, like an unscheduled nightmare.

I would certainly end up forever crying the blues into a coffee cup in a park for old men playing chess or silly games of some sort.

When I was young I was depressed all the time. But suicide no longer seemed a possibility in my life. At my age there was very little left to kill. It was good to be old, no matter what they said. It was reasonable that a man had to be at least 50 years old before he could write with anything like clarity.

I can never drive my car over a bridge without thinking of suicide. I can never look at a lake or an ocean without thinking of suicide.

places to hunt places to hide are getting harder to find, and pet canaries and goldfish too, did you notice that?

Experience can dull. With most men experience is a series of mistakes; the more experience you have the less you know.