My two fingers on a typewriter have never connected with my brain. My hand on a pen does. A fountain pen, of course. Ball-point pens are only good for filling out forms on a plane.

At one with the One, it didn't mean a thing besides a glass of Guinness on a sunny day.

Champagne, if you are seeking the truth, is better than a lie detector.

And there, in that phrase, the bitterness leaks again out of my pen. What a dull lifeless quality this bitterness is. If I could I would write with love, but if I could write with love I would be another man; I would never have lost love.

I say that home is where there is a chair and a glass.

You needn't be so scared. Love doesn't end. Just because we don't see each other.

Sooner or later... one has to take sides. If one is to remain human.