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.
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.