Hit him again, Jack! He’s crazy!
The waitress had the appearance of a very old hooker who had finally found her place in life.
But after a while you learn to cope with things like seeing your dead grandmother crawling up your leg with a knife in her teeth. Most acid fanciers can handle this sort of thing.
Ah, that we lack the courage of our romantic convictions; and thereby miss the wine of life, forgoing the very thing that makes living worthwhile.
My blood is too thick for California: I have never been able to properly explain myself in this climate.
Still humping the American Dream.
I would feel real trapped in this life if I didn’t know I could commit suicide at any time.
These things happen. One day you run everything, and the next day you run like a dog.
There is no story unless you’ve written it.
He could shake your hand and stab you in the back at the same time.
Those of us that had been up all night were in no mood for coffee and donuts, we wanted strong drink. We were, after all, the cream of the national sporting press.
They don’t hardly make ’em like him any more – but just to be on the safe side, he should be castrated anyway.
No one holds command over me. No man. No god. No Prince. What is a claim of age for ones who are immortal? What is a claim of power for ones who defy death? Call your damnable hunt. We shall see whom I drag screaming to hell with me.
Old elephants limp off to the hills to die; old Americans go out to the highway and drive themselves to death with huge cars.
A man can live on his wits and his balls for only so long.
Fiction is a bridge to the truth that journalism can’t reach.
As you were, I was. As I am, you will be.
Familiarity seems to breed contempt.
Cover a war in a place where you can’t drink beer or talk to a woman? Hell no!
There was madness in any direction, at any hour. You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning.