Either a municipal bog is a private place or it isn't. If it is a private place in which to shit, how is it not a private place in which to fellate?
I have pushed the boat out as far as I should in terms of taking on too many things. I'm getting older and I just could not take it any more. I am now monitoring myself very closely and I'm just trying not to get into that sort of state again.
I was happy there. Which is to say I was not unhappy there. Unhappiness and happiness I have always been able to carry about with me, irrespective of place and people, because I have never joined in.
If you go looking for loonies and religious fanatics and dropouts and freaks, I dare say you'll find it.
It is exhausting knowing that most of the time the phone rings, most of the time there's an email, most of the time there's a letter, someone wants something of you.
It is the useless things that make life worth living and that make life dangerous too: wine, love, art, beauty. Without them life is safe, but not worth bothering with.
It only takes a room of Americans for the English and Australians to realize how much we have in common.
It was as if he grew his hair long and smoked cigarettes because he liked to, not because he liked being seen to. This was dangerously subversive.
It would be impossible to imagine going through life without swearing, and without enjoying swearing.
It's rather splendid to think of all those great men and women who appear to have presented symptoms that allow us to describe them as bipolar. Whether it's Hemingway, Van Gogh... Robert Schumann has been mentioned... Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath... some of them with rather grim ends.
I've never had any illusions about being a lead actor in films, because lead actors have to be of a certain kind. Apart from the beauty of looks and figure, which I cannot claim to have, there's just a particular kind of ordinary-Joe quality that a film star needs to have.
Just as it is the love of money that is the root of all evil, it is the belief in shamefulness that is the root of all misery.
Knowing those things are going to kill you," she said, "and still you do it." "How differently I might behave," Tom said, "if immortality were an option".
My first meeting with you only confirmed what I first suspected. You are a fraud, a charlatan and a shyster. My favorite kind of person, in fact.
My real dissatisfaction is with my dissatisfaction. How dare I be so discontent? How dare I? Or being discontent why cannot I shut up about it?
No adolescent ever wants to be understood, which is why they complain about being misunderstood all the time.
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