I would give anything for a female's hand on me tonight. they soften a man and then leave him listening to the rain.

people are not good to each other. perhaps if they were our deaths would not be so sad.

I guess for me Hemingway is a lot like it is for others: he goes down well when we are young.

Lighting new cigarettes, pouring more drinks. It has been a beautiful fight. Still is.

A yet women -good women- frightened me because they eventually wanted your soul, and what was left of mine, I wanted to keep. Basically I craved prostitutes, base women, because they were deadly and hard and made no personal demands. Nothing was lost when they left. Yet at the same time I yearned for a gentle, good woman, despite the overwhelming price.

Joan of Arc had style. Jesus had style.

To do a dull thing with style-now that's what I call art.