On a long enough time line, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.

I can manage my own pain. I can drink. I can go to the doctor and get a prescription. I can exercise. I can write a story about it. I've done it a million times! But I don't want to see the people I love tortured and suffering.

No matter how much you think you love somebody, you'll step back when the pool of their blood edges up too close.

Everybody's trying to make every minute of the present last forever. Preserve every second.

Burn the Louvre, and wipe your ass with the Mona Lisa. This way at least, God would know our names.

What you have to understand, is your father was your model for God.

We don't need women. There are plenty other things in the world to have sex with, just go to a sexaholics meeting and take notes. There's microwaved watermelons. There's the vibrating handles of lawn mowers right at crotch level. There's vacuum cleaners and beanbag chairs. Internet sites. All those old chat room sex hounds pretending to be sixteen-year-old girls. For serious, old FBI guys makes the sexiest cyberbabes.