Can you remember who you were, before the world told you who you should be?

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.

A man who can beat the horses can do anything he makes up his mind to do.

well, death says, as he walks by, I'm going to get you anyhow no matter what you've been: writer, cab-driver, pimp, butcher, sky-diver, I'm going to get you

We are all museums of fear.

The problem was you had to keep choosing between one evil or another, and no matter what you chose, they sliced a little bit more off you, until there was nothing left.

I wasn’t lonely. I experienced no self-pity. I was just caught up in a life in which I could find no meaning.