more you drink more you want

Life is not a matter of holding good cards, but sometimes, playing a poor hand well.

Show me a man with a tattoo and I'll show you a man with an interesting past.

You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.

The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.

The most beautiful stories always start with wreckage.

A bone to the dog is not charity. Charity is the bone shared with the dog, when you are just as hungry as the dog.

It is so much easier to live placidly and complacently. Of course, to live placidly and complacently is not to live at all.

The Wild still lingered in him and the wolf in him merely slept.

There's only one way to make a beginning, and that is to begin; and begin with hard work, and patience, prepared for all the disappoint­ment s.

I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.

Me comes before we. You need to become future strong before you can help others do the same.

It takes a lot of effort for an obsessive mind to accept the fact that everything is in order except itself.

If you believe everything you feel is an illusion then you’re delusional. Your emotion is part you. You’re made with it. Denying it and thinking it is all your mind, is denying your existence.

However deep our devotion may be to parents or to children it is our contemporaries alone with whom understanding is instinctive and entire.

Years later, when I asked my father, I said 'Pop, why were you so much harder on me than my younger brothers?' he said, son, you plum wore me out.

I've discovered that sheer quantity doesn't necessarily make for a heavier sound; if anything, overdubs make guitars sound mushier.

Once you start writing a character visually, you're in trouble.

The work of a science blogger is largely comprised of correcting and criticizing bad science news reporting.

The essence of poetry is will and passion.

In a somer seson, whan softe was the sonne, I shoop me into shroudes as I a sheep were, In habite an heremite unholy of werkes, Went wide in this world wondres to here.