Going to trial with a lawyer who considers your whole life-style a Crime in Progress is not a happy prospect.

I don't see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness.

There was an awful suspicion in my mind that I'd finally gone over the hump, and the worst thing about it was that I didn't feel tragic at all, but only weary, and sort of comfortably detached.

Luck is a very thin wire between survival and disaster, and not many people can keep their balance on it.

Jack Kerouac influenced me quite a bit as a writer... in the Arab sense that the enemy of my enemy was my friend.

It was the kind of town that made you feel like Humphrey Bogart: you came in on a bumpy little plane, and, for some mysterious reason, got a private room with a balcony overlooking the town and the harbor; then you sat there and drank until something happened.

Reality itself is too twisted.