We waste days like mad blackbirds and pray for alcoholic nightsour silk-sick human smiles wrap around us like somebody else's confetti

Insanity is relative. Who sets the norm?

We are hardly ever as strong as that which we create.

In the morning it was morning and I was still alive.

the grace is being able to like rock music, symphony music, jazz … anything that contains the original energy of joy.

The male, for all his bravado and exploration, is the loyal one, the one who generally feels love. The female is skilled at betrayal and torture and damnation.

I felt like crying but nothing came out. it was just a sort of sad sickness, sick sad, when you can't feel any worse. I think you know it. I think everybody knows it now and then. but I think I have known it pretty often, too often.