He had an opinion of himself, I think, that was too high for his own good. Or maybe it was the reverse. Maybe it was a low opinion that he kept trying to erase.
Imagination is a killer.
you're never more alive than when you're almost dead.
There was the single abiding certainty that they would never be at a loss for things to carry.
If you don't care for obscenity, you don't care for the truth.
I guess we're really brothers, aren't we? Don't know what that means, except it means that some of the same things we remember.