People empty me. I have to get away to refill.

Sometimes you just have to pee in the sink.

I’ve had so many knives stuck into me, when they hand me a flower I can’t quite make out what it is. It takes time.

I write as a function. Without it I would fall ill and die. It's as much a part of one as the liver or intestine, and just about as glamorous.

The blankets had fallen off and I stared down at her white back, the shoulder blades sticking out as if they wanted to grow into wings, poke through that skin. Little blades. She was helpless.

I think that everything should be made available to everybody, and I mean LSD, cocaine, codeine, grass, opium, the works. Nothing on earth available to any man should be confiscated and made unlawful by other men in more seemingly powerful and advantageous positions.

What a weary time those years were -- to have the desire and the need to live but not the ability.