Ah, lives there a man with soul so dead, who never to himself hath said As he hunched and rolled in his comfortable bed: To hell with the rent . . . I'll drink instead!

Today's pig is tomorrows bacon!

The most important thing a writer can have [is] the ability to live with the constant loneliness and a strong sense of revulsion for the banalities of everyday socializing.

We have bigger things to brood on and enormous reasons for wallowing in terminal craziness until we finally hit bottom.

You took too much man, too much, too much.

For every moment of triumph, for every instance of beauty, many souls must be trampled.

You can turn your back on a person, but never turn your back on a drug, especially when its waving a razor sharp hunting knife in your eye.