There's no accounting for laws. Or the changes wrought by men and time.

I try to stay two drinks ahead of reality and three behind a drunk

When I finally caught up with Abraham Trahearne, he was drinking beer with an alcoholic bulldog named Fireball Roberts in a ramshackle joint just outside of Sonoma, California, drinking the heart right out of a fine spring afternoon.

I had done either too much coke or too little, a constant problem in my life.

I knew the men were probably terrible people who whistled at pretty girls, treated their wives like servants, and voted for Nixon every chance they got, but as far as I was concerned, they beat the hell out of a Volvo-load of liberals for hard work and good times.

Consideration touches more deeply and longer than passion.

...the sun rose each morning to stare into my face with the blank but touching gaze of a lovely retarded child.