Well, life isn't a cakewalk, is it?! Eighty-nine percent of the world's most valuable art was created by men living in rat-infested flats. You think Velásquez wore Adidas? You think he enjoyed the luxuries of central heating and twenty-four-hour pizza delivery?!
I hate how the people who really get you are the ones you can never hold on to for very long. And the ones who don’t understand you at all stick around.
Sovereign. Deadly. Perfect.
Not returning phone calls is the severest form of torture in the civilized world.
Always live your life with your biography in mind.
Show me what a man hates and I'll show you what he is.
Betrayal isn't ridiculous. It's the reason empires fall.
People don’t realize how easy life is to change. You just get on the bus.
There was quantum mechanics, string theory, and then there was the most mind-bending frontier of the natural world, women.
It’s what we chase but never find. It is the mystery of our lives, the understanding that even when we have everything we want it is one day to leave us. It’s the something unseen, the lurking devastation, the darkness that gives our lives dimension.
Look at Picasso. O’Neill. Tennessee Williams. Capote. Were these shiny happy people spreading sunshine? No. Only the greatest of personal demons can force you to do powerful work.
Freak the ferocious out.
Most people ended up, after only a couple of months, so far away from where they'd intended to go, stuck in some barbed underbrush of a quagmire when they'd meant to head straight to the ocean.
Because every one of us has our box, a dark chamber stowing the thing that lanced our heart. It contains what you do everything for, strive for, wound everything around you.
We're living longer, we social network alone with our screens, and our depth of feeling gets shallower. Soon it'll be nothing but a tide pool, then a thimble of water, then a micro drop.
His characters are ravaged, beaten. They walk through infernos and emerged charred doves.
What you tend to find in the personal lives of brilliant men is devastation akin to a nuclear bomb going off.
I'm not afraid of total failure. In the end, we're all just food for worms, so what are we so worried about?
It was never the act itself but our own understanding of it that defeated us, over and over again.
Good bands you can kind of lose, then come back and realize they're still good.
Life was a freight train barreling toward just one stop, our loved ones streaking past our windows in blurs of color and light. There was no holding on to any of it, and no slowing it down.
You journalists bulldoze life's mysteries, ignorant of what you're so ruthlessly turning up.
Like that lightning that comes out of the blue when there's not even a storm going on, just a crazy crack in the sky. With something like that right in front of you, you can't help but feel there's new possibilities out there.
What, really, was the difference between something hounding you and something leading you somewhere?
It's funny how the night that changes your life forever starts out like all the others.
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