I am this fiery snail crawling home.

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

nobody can save you but yourself and you’re worth saving. it’s a war not easily won but if anything is worth winning then this is it.

That was the trouble with being a writer, that was the main trouble—leisure time, excessive leisure time. You had to wait around for the buildup until you could write and while you were waiting you went crazy, and while you were going crazy you drank and the more you drank the crazier you got.

Some people have written that my writing has helped them go on. It has helped me too. The writing, the roses, the 9 cats.

The crazy ones only laugh when there is no reason to laugh.

I tell you such fine music waits in the shadows of hell.