You take somebody that cries their goddam eyes out over phoney stuff in the movies, and nine times out of ten they're mean bastards at heart.

Goddam money. It always ends up making you blue as hell.

I don't even like old cars. I'd rather have a goddam horse. A horse is at least human, for God's sake.

Advice? I don't have advice. Stop aspiring and start writing. If you're writing, you're a writer. Write like you're a Goddamn death row inmate and the governor is out of the country and there's no chance for a pardon. Write like you're clinging to the edge of a cliff, white knuckles, on your last breath, and you've got just one last thing to say, like you're a bird flying over us and you can see everything, and please, for God's sake, tell us something that will save us from ourselves. Take a deep breath and tell us your deepest, darkest secret, so we can wipe our brow and know that we're not alone. Write like you have a message from the king. Or don't. Who knows, maybe you're one of the lucky ones who doesn't have to.

When you're dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a Goddam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you're dead? Nobody.

God doesn't build shit. Yeah, He creates stuff - the World, the mountain ranges, all that - but any fuck with one eye left in his head will tell you that He doesn't spend much time fixing up all His crap. No, He made it, splinters and snakes and all, but then He just took off, leaving the whole Goddamn thing to whatever carrion birds feast on dilapidation.

The world is a Goddamned evil place, the strong prey on the weak, the rich on the poor; I've given up hope that there is a God that will save us all. How am I supposed to believe that there's a heaven and a hell when all I see now is hell.

I knew you were crazy, but I didn't realize that you were out of your Goddamned mind!!

First Pallas and now you," the gray-haired man said, shaking his head at Nick. "It's like I'm running a Goddamn dating service around here.

I was suffering the easily foreseeable consequences. Addiction is the hallmark of every infatuation-based love story. It all begins when the object of your adoration bestows upon you a heady, hallucinogenic dose of something you never dared to admit you wanted-an emotional speedball, perhaps, of thunderous love and roiling excitement. Soon you start craving that intense attention, with a hungry obsession of any junkie. When the drug is witheld, you promptly turn sick, crazy, and depleted (not to mention resentful of the dealer who encouraged this addiction in the first place but now refuses to pony up the good stuff anymore-- despite the fact that you know he has it hidden somewhere, Goddamn it, because he used to give it to you for free). Next stage finds you skinny and shaking in a corner, certain only that you would sell your soul or rob your neighbors just to have 'that thing' even one more time. Meanwhile, the object of your adoration has now become repulsed by you. He looks at you like you're someone he's never met before, much less someone he once loved with high passion. The irony is,you can hardly blame him. I mean, check yourself out. You're a pathetic mess,unrecognizable even to your own eyes. So that's it. You have now reached infatuation's final destination-- the complete and merciless devaluation of self." - pg 20-21

It is so hard to leave-until you leave. And then it is the easiest Goddamned thing in the world.

They're animals, all right. But why are you so Goddam sure that makes us human beings?

For what it's worth, I think happiness is a fleeting condition, not a permanent state of Goddamn mind. I've learned that if you chase after moments of bliss here and there, sometimes those moments will sustain you through the shit.

I am ready for whatever's coming. I expect nothing but to be let down or turned away. I am alone. Goddamn. The shit hurts sometimes, but I realize what I am, what I have become.

Life is the tragedy,' she said bitterly. 'You know how they categorize Shakespeare's plays, right? If it ends with a wedding, it's a comedy. And if it ends with a funeral, it's a tragedy. So we're all living tragedies, because we all end the same way, and it isn't with a Goddamn wedding.

You take somebody that cries their goddam eyes out over phoney stuff in the movies and nine times out of ten they're mean bastards at heart.

Goddam money. It always ends up making you blue as hell.