“the writing of somemenis like a vast bridgethat carries youoverthe many thingsthat claw and tear.The Wine of Forever”

“the psyche has been burnedand left us senseless,the world has been darker than lights-outin a closet full of hungry bats,and the whiskey and wine entered our veinswhen blood was too weak to carry on”

“Ihave a face like a washrag. I singlove songs and carry steel.I would rather die than cry. I can'tstand hounds can't live without them.I hang my head against the whiterefrigerator and want to scream likethe last weeping of life forever butI am bigger than the mountains.”

“yes, Wagner and the storm intermix with the wine as nights like this run up my wrists and up into my head and back down into the gut”

“Baby, in a couple of minutes I'm going to rip off your god damned panties and show you some turkey neck you'll remember all the way to the graveside. I have a vast and curved penis, like a sickle, and many a gutted pussy has gasped come upon my callous and roach-smeared rug. First let me finish this drink.”

“our bones like stems into the sky will forever cry victory”

“Writing is something that you don't know how to do. You sit down and it's something that happens, or it may not happen. So, how can you teach anybody how to write? It's beyond me, because you yourself don't even know if you're going to be able to. I'm always worried, well, you know, every time I go upstairs with my wine bottle. Sometimes I'll sit at that typewriter for fifteen minutes, you know. I don't go up there to write. The typewriter's up there. If it doesn't start moving, I say, well this could be the night that I hit the dust.”