They have no idea that it can be done by a bus driver, a field hand, or a fry cook. They have no idea where it comes from. It comes from pain, damnation and impossibility. The blow to the soul of the gut. It comes from getting burned and seared and slugged. It comes from...new and awful places and the same old places.

I wish to weep but sorrow is stupid. I wish to believe but belief is a graveyard.

purple does something strange to me

Let it die. Let there be a new beginning. It’s awful. Goodnight.

I thought you were sane," I said, "but you're just as crazy as the rest of them.

I wasn’t lonely. I experienced no self-pity. I was just caught up in a life in which I could find no meaning.

Few beautiful women were willing to indicate in public that they belonged to someone. I had known enough women to realize this. I accepted them for what they were and love came hard and very seldom. When it did it was usually for the wrong reasons. One simply became tired of holding back love and let it go because it needed some place to go. Then, usually, there was trouble.