Poetry -- even bad poetry -- may be our final hope.

Every moment is precious. And precarious.

I've wrecked and ravaged half my life in the pursuit of women, and I suffer the pangs of about seventeen regrets -- the seventeen who got away.

The world exists for its own sake, not for ours. Swallow *that* pill!

Preacher to me: 'A dollar for the Lord, brother?' Me to preacher: 'That's all right, I'm headed his way. I'll give it to him when I see him.'

Most of us lead lives of chaotic improvisation from day to day, bawling for peace while plunging grimly into fresh disorders.

Women truly are better than men. Otherwise, they'd be intolerable.