and now, all these years later, it seem to him that the most horrible fact of human existence was that broken hearts mended

I didn't go to bars much. One drunken asshole was all I could handle and that was me. I wrote. I don't remember a lot of it.

I can remember being home from school with tonsillitis and writing stories in bed to pass the time.

I've given up thinking - it keeps getting me into trouble.

"Am I weird?" "Yeah. But so what? Everybody's weird."

The King is in his Tower, eating bread and honey. The Breakers in the basement, making all the money.

Money talks, bullshit walks.