The best thing is the combined effect of nicotine with alcohol, greater than the sum of the two parts.

You put your time where your priority is.

The end-of-summer winds make people restless.

Have you ever been lonely? No, neither have I. Solitary, yes. Alone, certainly. But lonely means minding about being on your own. I've never minded about it.

Oh, the sweetness of giving in, of full surrender.

Gradually the feeling wears off, and I feel swamped again by the inexplicable pettiness of being alive.

One thing about London is that when you step out into the night, it swallows you.

I'd never chosen to be alone, but that was the way things had turned out, and I'd grown used to it.

That sense of happiness just out beyond my reach - I'm not sure I'd grasped that exactly, but I'd got something close to it, contentment maybe, or at least a functioning routine with regular rewards.

The thought of all that happiness was hard to bear. What's the point of happiness when all it does is throw the facts of dying into clear relief?

I breathed and breathed and did feel some calmness enter in, though it was, as always, shot with a sense of loss. Loss and fear.

It were better that we were not at all, than that we should live still in wickedness, and to suffer, and not to know wherefore.

Everybody wants a change and change happens in the life of everybody each day, but not all changes are preferable

I played sports year around: basketball, soccer, softball and I ran track year around, from the time I was, like, six, seven.

The Irish Republican Army has kept every commitment made by its leadership.

Truly there is no such thing as finality.

Resist the temptation to ascribe motive, because you really don't know - and it gets in the way of being able to reach a consensus on things that matter to you and to many other people.

What does the earth look like in the places where people commit atrocities? Is there a bad smell, a genius loci, something about the landscape that might incriminate?

Your spirit is mingled with mine what touches you, touches me.

That willing suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes poetic faith.

Life is the inside of a box, and we can't open it.