“Basically, that's why I wrote: to save my ass, to save my ass from the madhouse, from the streets, from myself.”

“Writing was never work for me. It had been the same for as long as I could remember: turn on the radio to a classical music station, light a cigarette or a cigar, open the bottle. The typer did the rest. All I had to do was be there. The whole process allowed me to continue when life itself offered very little, when life itself was a horror show. There was always the typer to soothe me, to talk to me, to entertain me, to save my ass. Basically that's why I wrote: to save my ass, to save my ass from the madhouse, from the streets, from myself.”

“there is always one woman to save you from another and as that woman saves you she makes ready to destroy”

“nothing can save you except writing. it keeps the walls from failing.”

“In my next life I want to be a cat. To sleep 20 hours a day and wait to be fed. To sit around licking my ass.”

“nervestwitching in the sheets --to face the sunlight again,that's clearlytrouble.I like the city better when theneon lights are going andthe nudies dance on top of thebarto the mauling music.I'm under this sheetthinking.me nerves are hampered byhistory --the most memorable concern of mankindis the guys it takes toface the sunlight again.love begins at the meeting of twostrangers. love for the world isimpossible. I'd rather stay in bedand sleep.dizzied by the days and the streets and the yearsI pull the sheets to my neck.I turn my ass to the wall.I hate the mornings more thanany man.”

“My body gnaws at me from one side and my spirit gnaws at me from the other.”