I wasn't a social drinker. I used to say that I didn't want to go to bars because they were full of assholes like me.

Hemingway sucks. If I set out to write that way, it would have been been hollow and lifeless because it wasn't me.

This is how a man looks when he's deciding that the risk of death is better than the risk of change.

What do you really want to know? Am I sorry for what I did? There's not a day goes by I don't feel regret. Not because I'm in here, but because you think I should be. I look back on the way I was. A young, stupid kid that committed that terrible crime. I want to talk to him. I want to try to talk some sense to him. Tell him the way things are. But I can't. That kid's long gone, and this old man is all that's left.

Little by little, writers develop their own styles, each as unique as a fingerprint.

Love among the ruins... I'll tell you something, my friend: Weird love's better than no love at all.

Get busy living, or get busy dying.