The hangover became a part of the day as well allowed-for as the Spanish siesta.

You can stroke people with words.

Want any of this stuff? Jordan?... Nick?" I didn't answer. Nick?" he asked again. What?" Want any?" No... I just remembered that today's my birthday." I was thirty. Before me stretched the portentous, menacing road of a new decade.

Isn't Hollywood a dump-in the human sense of the word. A hideous town, pointed up by the insulting gardens of its rich, full of the human spirit at a new low of debasement.

one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty−one that everything afterward savors of anti−climax.

If that was true he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a high price for living too long with a single dream.

Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you