Once a newspaper touches a story, the facts are lost forever, even to the protagonists.

America is a hurricane, and the only people who do not hear the sound are those fortunate if incredibly stupid and smug White Protestants who live in the center, in the serene eye of the big wind.

Three miles long and two streets wide, the town curls around the bay ... a gaudy run with Mediterranean splashes of color, crowded steep-pitched roofs, fishing piers and fishing boats whose stench of mackerel and gasoline is as aphrodisiac to the sensuous nose as the clean bar-whisky smell of a nightclub where call girls congregate.

I do believe that America's deepest political sickness is that it is a self-righteous nation.

Murder offers the promise of vast relief. It is never unsexual.

Masculinity is not something given to you, but something you gain. And you gain it by winning small battles with honor.

The paradox is that no love can prove so intense as the love of two narcissists for each other.