The night was electric – The night was in italics.
He had promised my payout would be halfway to six figures. And it was. It was three figures.
Love finds me difficult.
I think: you deserve to be what you are if you could bear to get that way. You must have seen it coming. And now there’s nothing for you here.
Today, in the West, there are no good excuses for religious belief – unless we think that ignorance, reaction, and sentimentality are good excuses.
Suffering doesn’t concern itself with the scale of other sufferings. It has no community sense. It isn’t relative, is it. I can’t be the only one to have noticed that. Whoever said it first – did they have more to say? The.
The driver treated his cab as a peasant might treat his horse or ass, with numb and proprietorial cruelty. The bursts of acceleration were like long-toothed, lip-flapping exhalations; then came the looping whinny of the brakes.
I think: you deserve to be what you are if you could bare to get that way. You must have seen it coming. And now there’s nothing for you here. No one will protect you, and people won’t see any reason not to do you harm.
Suicide is the night train, speeding your way to darkness. You won’t get there so quick, not by natural means. You buy your ticket and you climb on board. That ticket costs everything you have. But it’s just a one-way. This train takes you into the night, and leaves you there. It’s the night train. Now.
Happiness writes white: it doesn’t show up on the page.
Now I have to lie on the bed for a few minutes and let the solitude gather round me once more.
London is full of short stories, long stories, epics, farces, sit-coms, soaps and squibs, walking round hand in hand.
I want to convey a mood, and what you are reading is a constituent of how you feel. In biographies they should always tell us that, routinely, in the margin: what they were reading. What.
He thought, Yeah. Yeah, non-smokers live seven years longer. Which seven will be subtracted by the god called Time? It won’t be that convulsive, heart-bursting spell between twenty-eight and thirty-five. No. It’ll be that really cool bit between eighty-six and ninety-three.
Let me give you a lesson on war, Golo. Rule number one: never invade Russia.
What was Richard? He was a revenger, in what was probably intended to be a comedy.
I try to like the way the world is changing, but there seems to be no extra room for me inside.
Here’s another joke: “She calls me up and says, ‘Get over here. There’s nobody home.’ So I get over there, and guess what. There’s nobody home.
How do you think the world popped into existence? – I’d say wee we are at least five Albert Einsteins away from answering this question.
And now, at dusk, outside my window, the trees shake their heads like disco dancers in the strobe lights of nightlife long ago.