I had it then. Soda fought for fun, Steve for hatred, Darry for pride, and Two-Bit for conformity. Why do I fight? I thought, and couldn't think of any real good reason. There isn't any real good reason for fighting except self-defense.

You know a guy a longtime, and I mean really know him, you don't get used to the idea that he's dead just overnight.

I have no idea why I write. The old standards are: I like to express my feelings, stretch my imagination, earn money.

I wish I was a kid again, when I had all the answers.

I guess I just couldn't see standing there -- alive, talking, thinking, breathing, being -- one second, and dead the next. It really bothered me. Death by violence isn't the same as dying any other way, accident or disease or old age. It just ain't the same.

You get tough like me and you don't get hurt. You look out for yourself and nothin' can touch you.

I learned that if you want to get somewhere, you just make up your mind and work like hell til you get there.