Night can swallow you up, yet none of it touches you. Around any corner, there’s a promise of something daring and ideal and things are just getting going. There’s something obscenely joyful behind every door, either that or somebody crying with their head in in their hands. A lazy rhythm looms in the dreamy air and the atmosphere pulsates with bygone duels, past-life romance, comrades requesting comrades to aid them in some way. You can’t see it, but you know it’s there.
Remembrance of things past, I do that all the time.
Absolutely,” he says. “If it’s at all possible.
She’s got everything she needs; she’s an artist, she don’t look back.
Privacy is something you can sell, but you can’t buy it back.
I never took much, I never asked for your crutch, Now don’t ask for mine.
Very, very protesty. And, uh, one of the protestiest of all things I ever protested against in my protest years.
Definition destroys... there’s nothing definite in this world.
I didn’t have any of these dreams or thoughts, but I was going to acquire them.
Once upon a time You dressed so fine.
I wanna say hello to all the ex-hippies tonight. I’ve never been a hippie myself but I’m an honorary hippie.
I wasn’t going to go deeper into the darkness for anybody. I was already living in the darkness. My family was my light and I was going to protect that light at all cost. That was where my dedication was, first, last and everything in-between. What did I owe the rest of the world? Nothing. Not a damn thing.
I almost died because of obesity. It make me cannot breath when sleep at night.
At the final end you won the war after losing every battle.
But I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.
Life is sad, life is a bust, all you can do is do what you must. You do what you must do, and you do it well.
The ghost of electricity howls in the bones of her face.
Semantics and labels could drive you crazy.
You’ve been through all of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s books, you’re very well read, it’s well known.
He looked like he came out of nightmare alley.