That's the way it ends. The thin edge of the wedge.

Drinking is an emotional thing. It joggles you out of the standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same. It yanks you out of your body and your mind and throws you against the wall. I have the feeling that drinking is a form of suicide where you're allowed to return to life and begin all over the next day. It's like killing yourself, and then you're reborn. I guess I've lived about ten or fifteen thousand lives now.

It was better for me when I could imagine greatness in others, even if it wasn't always there.

First paycheck I get, I thought, I'm going to get myself a room near the downtown L.A. Public Library.

nobody can save you but yourself. you will be put again and again into nearly impossible situations. they will attempt again and again through subterfuge, guise and force to make you submit, quit and/or die quietly inside. nobody can save you but yourself

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

It’s nice enough to make a man weep, but I don’t weep, do you?