Try not to sing too many sad songs for yourself. The universe already hates you. Self-pity isn't going to help.

There are two Venices I know about and one of them is a hotel in Vegas. The other is an L.A. beach where pretty girls walk their dogs while wearing as little as possible and mutant slabs of tanned, posthuman beef sip iced steroid lattes and pump iron until their pecs are the size of Volkswagens.

Don't drink too much." "When I can spell out your name in shot glasses, I'll stop." "I'll have to get a shorter name." "I'll have to forget how to spell it.

Try not to sing too many sad songs for yourself. The universe already hates you. Self-pity isn't going to help.

Memories are bullets. Some whiz by and only spook you. Others tear you open and leave you in pieces.

No wonder Sherlock Holmes did all that coke. Math is hard.

Twenty percent? What am I, your waiter? I got you five vampires, not a BLT.