The movie’s not over till everybody’s dead.
She was a woman, a traitor, and a killer. Males and females wanted her. But I was the only one who ever could have loved her.
It was all right to be who he was, but others would probably think it was terrible. A couple of times in the past he'd reached this absolute zero of the truth, and without fear or bitterness he realiz...
His eyeballs look like he bought them in a joke shop.
He got right down in the dark between heartbeats, and rested there. And then he saw that another one wasn't going to come. That's it. That's the last. He looked at the dark. I would like to take this...
And you, you ridiculous people, you expect me to help you.
The traveling salesmen fed me pills that made the lining of my veins feel scraped out, my jaw ached... I knew every raindrop by its name, I sensed everything before it happened. Like I knew a certain...
That world! These days it's all been erased and they've rolled it up like a scroll and put it away somewhere. Yes, I can touch it with my fingers. But where is it?
Staring at his own face reflected in a cup of bitter karma. For
Maybe, when you hear the name Beverly, you think of Beverly Hills--people wandering the streets with their heads shot off by money.
Everybody’s got a mean side. Just don’t feed it till it grows.
[The doctor] peeked into the trauma room and saw the situation: the clerk - that is, me - standing next to the orderly, Georgie, both of us on drugs, looking down at a patient with a knife sticking up...
Since Marco Polo, he thought, this climate has defeated Western civilization.
No more pretending for him! He was completely and openly a mess. Meanwhile the rest of us go on trying to fool each other.
I note that I've lived longer in the past now, than I can expect to live in the future. I have more to remember than I have to look forward to. Memory fades, not much of the past stays, and I wouldn't...
I make the road. I draw the map. Nothing just happens to me...I'm the one happening.
How could I tell you about it? It was a dream. It didn’t make any fucking sense, man. But I do remember it.
Her midriff bare, like the denizen...of some pampering seraglio.
Are you hearing unusual sounds or voices? the doctor asked.
All the modern verse plays, they're terrible they're mostly about the poetry. It's more important that the play is first.