my hands dead my heart dead silence adagio of rocks the world ablaze that's the best for me.

Don't ever write a novel unless it hurts like a hot turd coming out.

when I was a boy I used to dream of becoming the village idiot. I used to lie in bed and imagine myself the happy idiot able to get food easily ...and easy sympathy, a planned confusion of not too much love or effort. some would claim that I have succeeded.

If there are junk yards in hell, love is the dog that guards the gates.

Love is all right for those who can handle the psychic overload. It's like trying to carry a full garbage can on your back over a rushing river of piss.

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.

my greatest problem was stamps, envelopes, paper and wine, with the world on the edge of World War II.