Writing Is A Lonely Way Of Life.

He Sat Watching The People Go By, Wondering How A Thing Of This Sort Could Have Come About, I Must Have Let Myself Get Mixed Up In Something Horrible, He Thought ... Probably She's The One Who Did It; I Have No Control Of Myself Or Anything That's Happened. So Now I'm Waking Up. I'm Awake, He Thought ... I've Been Destroyed And Now That I'm Awake All I Can Do Is Realize It ... The Shock Of Getting Up There And Telling That Account Made Me See. Mixture Of Lies And Bits Of Truth. Woven Together. Unable To See Where Each Starts.

Drug Misuse Is Not A Disease, It Is A Decision, Like The Decision To Step Out In Front Of A Moving Car. You Would Call That Not A Disease But An Error Of Judgment.

Certainly It Constitutes Bad News If The People Who Agree With You Are Buggier Than Batshit.

When Two People Dream The Same Dream, It Ceases To Be An Illusion.

He Started Keeping A Journal - Had Been, In Fact, Secretly Doing So For Some Time: The Furtive Act Of A Deranged Person.