Our blood is the same, we just use it differently.

Work will drive you crazy if you let it.

Here is another miserable mental image I will have to catalog and make room for.

Most people are chained to their own fear and stupidity and haven’t the sense to level a cold eye at just what is wrong with their lives. Most people will continue on, dissatisfied but never attempting to understand why, or how they might change things for the better, and they die with nothing in their hearts but dirt and old, thin blood - weak blood, diluted - and their memories aren’t worth a goddamned thing.

The creak of bed springs suffering under the weight of a restless man is as lonely a sound as I know.

He only wished to fight and cultivate an anger toward me, thus alleviating his guilt, but I would not abet him in this.

It is hard to find a friend,' I said. 'It is the hardest thing in this world,' he agreed.