They’re gonna make it look like suicide. I know how those bastards think.
I was never trying, necessarily, to be an outlaw. It was just the place in which I found myself.
What passed for society was a loud, giddy whirl of thieves and pretentious hustlers, a dull sideshow full of quacks and clowns and philistines with gimp mentalities.
There are times, however, and this is one of them, when even being right feels wrong. What do you say, for instance, about a generation that has been taught that rain is poison and sex is death?
Platitudes are safe, because they’re easy to wink at, but truth is something else again.
Las Vegas is the savage heart of the American Dream.
There’s a terrible danger in voting for the lesser of two evils because the parties can set it up that way.
There was no time for scholarly details, and, besides, I have always believed that a man can fairly be judged by the standards and taste of his choices in matters of high-level plagiarism.
Never create anything, it will be misinterpreted, it will chain you and follow you for the rest of your life.
One of the advantages of being dead, I guess, is that somebody else can edit all this.
If you consider the great journalists in history, you don’t see too many objective journalists on that list.
Sportswriters are a rude and brainless subculture of fascist drunks.
I never claimed to be anything more than a nice guy and an athlete.
Las Vegas makes Reno seem like your friendly neighborhood grocery store.
I went to the Democratic Convention as a journalist, and returned a cold-blooded revolutionary.
Most people who deal in words don’t have much faith in them and I am no exception.
A little bit of this town goes a very long way. After five days in Vegas you feel like you’ve been here for five years.
There is something fresh and crisp about the first hours of a Caribbean day, a happy anticipation that something is about to happen, maybe just up the street or around the next corner.
I’m a word freak. I like words. I’ve always compared writing to music. That’s the way I feel about good paragraphs. When it really works, it’s like music.
I harbor a secret urge to whack a salesman in the face, crack his teeth and put red bumps around his eyes.