We're left alone with each other. We have to creep close to each other and give gentle little nudges with our paws and our muzzles before we can slip into sleep and rest for the next day's playtime.

I've got the guts to die. What I want to know is, have you got the guts to live?

Why is it so damn hard for people to talk?

Liquor is one way out an’ death’s the other.

I think that hate is a feeling that can only exist where there is no understanding.

I saw that it was all over, put away in a box like a doll no longer cared for, the magical intimacy of our childhood together

If the writing is honest it cannot be separated from the man who wrote it.