Now I’msober and Irealize, Ididn’t drink toescape the world, I drank to escapemyself

I don’t need the facts. I’m a Pisces.

But now that I’m scrubbingtoilets on my hands & knees, with four degrees, I realize that one escape routeleads to another

There’s a universalunderstanding betweenmen of the silent sorrowa man endures whenhe loses a woman heloves

and tonight we held each other, one last time, like a dance to aslow songon an empty floor, underneath a singledisco ballin front of no oneat all

Two kinds ofpeople will love you:those who confessit, and those whoshow you, likecards on a table, because love isa gamble

AdiosHer pretty picturelying on theground was likethe topplingof somefascistregimeAnd burningthe photograph, was thecelebration

Fear is the vehicle in which love can do its worst.

to live asubstance-freelife under thepressures ofthe daily grindis state-sponsoredsuicide

I hate forcing myself to go to bed to avoid committing suicide.

Some people are hard to forget, but some people are hard to remember.

But very quickly they all became grave again: for, as you know, there is a kind of happiness and wonder that makes you serious. It is too good to waste on jokes.

the process through which any concept or subject (content) is taught becomes a part of the content. (p19)

The people inside the gym didn’t stand a dead drunk’s chance.

That was what it felt like - as if one had always been in that place and never been bored although nothing had ever happened.

I don't write about the intimate details of my cousins and aunts and uncles, and my mother and my father because it's not right to, for me.

Well, any effort to maximize your potential and ability is a good thing.

That I am not my experiences is very obvious. I am the one who is having those experiences. Spirituality has nothing to do with experience.

Freedom is dangerous. Possibly crawling on all fours might be safer than standing upright, but we like the view better up there.

Hand-spinning is designed to put millions of rupees in the hands of the poor villagers.

You better not brag, you're a hunky old hag, and that goes for your mother, too.