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.

the sea is made of blood

Something that never happens anywhere at any time.

I just want a hot cup of coffee,black,and I don’t want to hear about your troubles.

Each man's hell is in a different place: mine is just up and behind my ruined face.

human relationships simply aren't durable. I think back to the women in my life. they seem non-existent.

A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover.