I knew that I would know more dead people. The bodies pile up. Could there be a space in my memory for each of them, or would I forget a little of Alaska every day for the rest of my life?

The only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive.

What you must understand about me is that I’m a deeply unhappy person.

Y'all smoke to enjoy it. I smoke to die.

We need never be hopeless because we can never be irreperably broken.

They love their hair because they're not smart enough to love something more interesting.

Why don’t we break up? I guess I stay with her because she stays with me. And that’s not an easy thing to do.

I wanted to be one of those people who have streaks to maintain, who scorch the ground with their intensity. But for now, at least I knew such people, and they needed me, just like comets need tails.

At some point we all look up and realize we are lost in a maze.

Night falls fast. Today is in the past.

I'm really not up for answering any questions that start with how, when, where, why or what.

A life that is actually lived is one that is with significance.

It is possible to find the passion to read.

And telling you I care about you is a waste of time. I wouldn't have crossed the ocean, come out of hiding, tracked you down, if you didn't matter to me.

The true purpose of life is the perfection of humanity through individual effort, under the guidance of God's inspiration.

What I discovered was is that it's rare to find a person that you feel very intimate with, and you can sleep with lots of people and not find what you're looking for.

I have a burning desire to see what things look like photographed by me.

Every American expects and deserves clean air, and then we act on that belief, then we will set an example for the rest of the world to follow.

My undertaking is not difficult, essentially. I should only have to be immortal to carry it out.

That liberty is a great thing we may know from our own feelings, and we may likewise judge so from the conduct of the white-people, in the late war.

If she were a writer she would collect her pencils and notebooks and favourite cat and write in bed. Strangers and lovers would never get past the locked door.