they say that nothing is wasted: either that or it al is

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.

There's no way I can stop writing, it's a form of insanity.

If you let them kill you, they will

Those who escape hell however never talk about it and nothing much bothers them after that

I am ashamed to be a member of the human race but I don't want to add any more to that shame, I want to scrape a little of it off.

in the cupboard sits my bottle like a dwarf waiting to scratch out my prayers. I drink and cough like some idiot at a symphony, sunlight and maddened birds are everywhere, the phone rings gamboling its sound against the odds of the crooked sea; I drink deeply and evenly now, I drink to paradise and death and the lie of love.