The only characters I've made to resemble real people have been grotesques.

Morning is wonderful. Its only drawback is that it comes at such an inconvenient time of day.

The man who counts on the aid of a god deserves the help he doesn't get.

Every ounce of my cynicism is supported by historical precedent.

There were dreams once upon a time, dreams now all but forgotten. On sad days I dust them off and fondle them nostalgically, with a patronizing wonder at the naivete of the youth who dreamed them.

There is no vengeance as terrible as the vengeance a coward plots in the dark of his heart.

Rich men have dreams. Poor men die to make them come true.

There are no self-proclaimed villains, only regiments of self-proclaimed saints. Victorious historians rule where good or evil lies.

I'm an incurable romantic. The essence of romance is an unshakable conviction that next time will be different.

My favorite sport is female and my favorite food is beer.

Soldiers live. He dies and not you, and you feel guilty, because you're glad he died, and not you. Soldiers live, and wonder why.

You say that money doesn't bring happiness... but you have them... don't ya?If they don't bring happiness give them to average class and the result will be called "Bringing happiness!

I think part of the beauty of our relationship with jewelry is that it can change and evolve as we do ourselves.

All lovely things will have an ending, all lovely things will fade and die; and youth, that's now so bravely spending, Will beg a penny by and by.

Cosmology is serious business and in our hearts we are nothing if not cosmologists, hanging in a cold cage sifting the ruthless jewels of existence.

[Having monologue] are talking to somebody even if it's just to yourself, convince yourself if that's what you're trying to do.

I believe in our side and theirs, with the good and evil decided after the fact, by those who survive. Among men you seldom find the good with one standard and the shadow with another.

Are we, then, insane because we have not gone mad?

Music is the sole domain in which man realizes the present.

Only a newspaper! Quick read, quick lost, Who sums the treasure that it carries hence? Torn, trampled under feet, who counts thy cost, Star-eyed intelligence?

I hate everything approaching temperamental inspiration,'sacred fire'and all those attributes of genius which serve only as cloaks for untidy minds.