Here's to alcohol, the rose colored glasses of life.

I don’t want just words. If that’s all you have for me, you’d better go

Things are sweeter when they're lost. I know--because once I wanted something and got it. It was the only thing I ever wanted badly, Dot, and when I got it it turned to dust in my hand.

There was a kindliness about intoxication - there was that indescribable gloss and glamour it gave, like the memories of ephemeral and faded evenings.

Tired, tired with nothing, tired with everything, tired with the world’s weight he had never chosen to bear.

It was too late - everything was too late. For years now he had dreamed the world away, basing his decisions upon emotions unstable as water.

Art isn't meaningless... It is in itself. It isn't in that it tries to make life less so.

They were stars on this stage, each playing to an audience of two.

I had traded the fight against love for the fight against loneliness, the fight against life for the fight against death.

Experience is not worth the getting. It's not a thing that happens pleasantly to a passive you--it's a wall that an active you runs up against.

All I think of ever is that I love you.

The right music and lyrics can infiltrate your soul.

...once you've crawled into what's commonly thought of as the sordid underbelly of life, you realize it's all just different versions of normal.

Who a person is will ultimately determine if their brains, talents, competencies, energy, effort, deal-making abilities, and opportunities will succeed.

In fiction workshops, we tend to focus on matters of verisimilitude largely because such issues are so much easier to talk about than the failure of imagination.

Certainly all historical experience confirms the truth - that man would not have attained the possible unless time and again he had reached out for the impossible.

I am honored that they would include me in the Cabinet as a member and contributor.

I happen to think singing is hilarious, especially when it pops out at the wrong time.

Man screams from the depths of his soul; the whole era becomes a single, piercing shriek. Art also screams, into the deep darkness, screams for help, screams for the spirit. This is Expressionism.

I am what I am and, you know, I'm a very lucky guy.

Money: in its absence, we are coarse; in its presence, we are vulgar.