I kept telling myself that all the women in the world weren´t whores, just mine.
I was so thin I could slice bread with my shoulderblades, only I seldom had bread.
she was consumed by 3 simple things: drink, despair, loneliness; and 2 more: youth and beauty
The writer has no responsibility other than to jack off in bed alone and write a good page.
I broke that town in half like a wooden match.
Death meant little to me. It was the last joke in a series of bad jokes.