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 am for the small man who has not forgotten, for the man who loves his beer and his women and his sunlight

life itself is not the miracle. that pain should be so constant, that's the miracle -

And yet women-good women--frightened me because they eventually wanted your soul, and what was left of mine, I wanted to keep.

bad writing's like bad women: there's just not much you can do about it

I sit here drunk now. I am a series of small victories and large defeats and I am as amazed as any other that I have gotten from there to here without committing murder or being murdered; without having ended up in the madhouse. as I drink alone again tonight my soul despite all the past agony thanks all the gods who were not there for me then.

The human body is mostly blood and mystery and sadness.