Madness, like small fish, runs in hosts, in vast numbers of instances.

Don't never participate in no bad scenes, he reminded himself; that was his motto in life.

But at least he can still see the lights below us. Although maybe for him it doesn't matter.

He felt all at once like an ineffectual moth, fluttering at the windowpane of reality, dimly seeing it from outside.

Many men talk like philosophers and live like fools.

Life in Anaheim, California, was a commercial for itself, endlessly replayed. Nothing changed; it just spread out farther and farther in the form of neon ooze. What there was always more of had been congealed into permanence long ago, as if the automatic factory that cranked out these objects had jammed in the on position.

Every time I see a picture of Stalin I look him square in the eye and I say: You're a meat eater, Joseph.