If I stop writing I am dead. And that's the only way I'll stop: dead.

But my whole life has been a matter of fighting for one simple hour to do what I want to do. There was always something getting in the way of my getting to myself.

Love breaks my bones and I laugh

I could read the great books but the great books don't interest me.

Why do you insist upon destroying yourself?

They looked as if nothing had ever touched them--all well-mothered, protected, with a soft sheen of contentment. None of them had ever been in jail, or worked hard with their hands, or even gotten a traffic ticket. Skimmed-milk jollies, the whole bunch.

If you want to know where God is, ask a drunk.