A friendship between a man and a woman was what you called it when one had been pursuing the other for a long time and never gotten anywhere.

You have to learn to love the small things in life, like a hot bath. You have to love the small things, when you have nothing else

One act presses upon another, on a path we have no choice but to follow, and each time there are reasons. We do what we must, we do what we are told, we do what is easiest. What else can we do but solve one sordid problem at a time? Then we look up and find... this.

I have learned all kinds of things from my many mistakes. The one thing I never learn to stop making them.

Strange, how the best moments of our lives we scarcely notice except in looking back.

There are few men with more blood on their hands than me. None, that I know of. The Bloody-Nine they call me, my enemies, and there’s a lot of ’em. Always more enemies, and fewer friends. Blood gets you nothing but more blood. It follows me now, always, like my shadow, and like my shadow I can never be free of it. I should never be free of it. I’ve earned it. I’ve deserved it. I’ve sought it out. Such is my punishment.

Every man has his excuses, and the more vile the man becomes, the more touching the story has to be. What is my story now, I wonder?