See, that’s the thing about L.A.— When you’ve mastered the art of feeling lonely in a room full of people, that’s when you know.

Everywhere I go, I kind of half stumble, half stomp. If there’s a balcony within a hundred feet of me at any given time, I am on it— smoking a Marlboro light 100 and complaining about something.

I drink Coke-zero while I score coke from an honors student in Huntington Beach.

Love is a pure force without claim to power.

And the curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being loved is intolerable to many.

We must play as if there are no more games, no more tomorrows.

I keep on reading the Morning Star newspaper to see if there's any hope, but it seems to be in the 19th century; it seems to be written for dropped-out, middle-aged liberals.

Each life needs its own quiet place.

There will be a meeting of the great powers who will disagree, and the next noise we hear will be the screeching of elevators going up and down from heaven to hell.

Lying about things large and small has become so accepted by so many that they even lie about lying.

I haven't looked to my peers for advice because we're all going through the same thing. How do you ask your friends for advice when they're going through the exact same thing?

I'm an internationalist. I want to help others, not just kill terrorists.

We receive love — from our children as well as others — not in proportion to our demands or sacrifices or needs, but roughly in proportion to our own capacity to love.