Growing old becomes clear to you at a certain point. I think it's after the age of 70 you realize - you begin to actually be convinced - you're growing older.

You were Marlon Brando, I was Steve McQueen, you were K.Y. Jelly, I was Vaseline.

I cannot understand why my arm is not a lilac tree.

Even without the mushroom cloud still I would have hated Listen I would have done the same things even if there were no death I will not be held like a drunkard under the cold tap of facts I refuse the universal alibi

It's four in the morning, the end of december I'm writing you now just to see if you're better.

I've forgotten most of what I've read and, frankly, it never seemed very important to me or to the world.

How bitter were the Prozac pills of the last few hundred mornings