I was so thin I could slice bread with my shoulderblades, only I seldom had bread.
It was only the matter of a new voice. Nobody listened to an old voice anymore. Old voices became a part of one's self, like a fingernail.
Pretty words, as pretty women, wrinkle up and die.
If I have any advice to anybody it's this: take up watercolor painting.
Let' em learn or let' em die
Goodness can be found sometimes in the middle of hell.