I miss your smell. When you left, I couldn’t wash the sheets because I didn’t want to lose that completely… You. And… it fucked me up for a long time because I would wake up and I’d smell you and I’d think you were there. And that would… My heart would break all over again. I think that’s why I go in for the kiss all the time. I know, yeah. I think I’m going for… another hit.

How can you be so fucking beautiful and so fucking wrong?

Wine is fine, but whiskey is quicker.

Life will kill you.

If I can make you laugh like that, why can’t we be together? That’s what I don’t understand.

You don’t want to be with me. You think… I know you think you do. But if I were to give myself to you, you would run for the hills, ’cause you’re not in love with me. You’re in love with the idea… The idea of love.

“Rome is burning”, he said, as he poured himself another drink. “Yet here I am, knee-deep in a river of pussy. Here it comes,” she thought, “another self-indulgent, whiskey-soaked diatribe about how fucking great everything was in the past and how all us poor souls born too late to see the Stones at wherever or snort the good coke like they had at studio 54.” Well, we had all just missed out on practically everything worth living for. And the worst part was, she agreed with him. “Here we are,” she thought, “at the edge of the world, the very edge of western civilization, and all of us are so desperate to feel something, anything, that we keep falling into each other and fucking our way towards the end of days.”

There is no such thing as a 2 h orgasm or my lesser work. You’re shit out of luck.

You know, as much as I love to hear about Bill’s failings as a parent, as a human being I do not like to be compared to him in the same sentence. It creeps me out.

She stole my guitar… and my records. My records! Oh, the humanity!