I love you, because the love you gave me was the only love I’ve ever had, the only love I ever will have.
Aside from battles, the history of nations seemed to consist of nothing but powerless old poops like myself, heavily medicated and vaguely beloved in the long ago, coming to kiss the boots of young psychopaths.
Pretend to be good always and even God will be fooled.
Only nut cases want to be president. This was true even in high school. Only clearly disturbed people ran for class president.
What is flirtatiousness but an argument that life must go on and on and on?
Sons of suicides seldom do well.
Even as I speak, the very last polar bear may be dying of hunger on account of climate change, on account of us. And I sure miss the polar bears. Their babies are so warm and cuddly and trusting, just like ours.
I just know that there are plenty of people who are in terrible trouble and can’t get out. And so I’m impatient with those who think that it’s easy for people to get out of trouble.
I am simply impressed by the unexpected insights which shower down on me when my job is to imagine, as contrasted with the woodenly familiar ideas which clutter my desk when my job is to tell the truth.
Seems like the only kind of job an American can get these days is committing suicide in some way.
Please – a little less love, and a little more common decency.
You know, I think the main purpose of the Army, Navy, and Marine Corps is to get poor Americans into clean, pressed, unpatched clothes, so rich Americans can stand to look at them.
Perhaps I am the turtle, able to live simply anywhere, even underwater for short periods, with my home on my back.
He is in a constant state of stage fright, he says, because he never knows what part of his life he is going to have to act in next.
Nowadays, of course, just about our only solvent industry is the merchandising of death, bankrolled by our grandchildren.
I’m mad about being old and I’m mad about being American. Apart from that, OK.
Trout was petrified there on Forty-second Street. It had given him a life not worth living, but I had also given him an iron will to live. This was a common combination on the planet Earth.
The practice of art isn’t to make a living. It’s to make your soul grow.
Wake up, you idiots! Whatever made you think that money was so valuable?
In real life as in grand opera, arias only make hopeless situations worse.