You know, sometimes I swear the whole universe runs on irony.

Alexandra was tall and blond, with a balcony you could do Shakespeare from.

Nothing is hidden, nothing is ever lost, nothing is ever forgotten. That's always been part of my problem.

Nothing is ever really lost. The memories of good friends and good times are always there, never more than a thought away. In a sense, they never really stopped happening. Every moment you ever treasured, every friend you ever valued is still there, separated from us only by time; the past is still happening and always will be. It's only we who have moved on.

You know, sometimes I swear the whole universe runs on irony.

The only good hero is the kind who survives to talk about merchandising.

The harsh, unyielding reality of having to compromise your ideals bit by bit, day by day, just to achieve a few little victories in the face of the world’s malice, or indifference. Until sometimes you wonder if there’s nothing left of you but the shell of the man you intended to be, just going through the motions because you’ve nothing better to do.