“But that’s a side effect of alcohol, isn’t it? Stopping to think about other people is not on the bar menu.”

We are all made from star dust and we will all return to star dust, like a cosmic palindrome.

You know that saying about how you don’t know what you have until it’s gone-I already did know what I had, and now that she’s gone, I know even more.

I knew not to give the best of myself to the worst of people.

I’m sorry, but I don’t get it. If we’re supposed to ignore everything that’s wrong with our lives, then I can’t see how we’ll ever make things right.

Today I am in control because I want to be. I have my fingers on the switch, but have lived a lifetime ignoring the control I have over my own world. Today is different.

I’d rather feel something for real than pretend it’s not what it is.

Isn’t it funny how we live inside the lies we believe?

The simplest answer is to act.

Only you can allow yourself to be angry.

I didn’t think about anything past tomorrow because anything past tomorrow was just like cloud busting – it depended soley on the person looking at the clouds and it could rain any minute

Everybody’s always looking for the person they’re better than

But it feels good to love a thing and not expect anything back. It feels good to not get an argument or any pushiness or any rumors or any bullshit. It’s love without strings. It’s ideal.

I was also built from delusional optimism and folly.

I am equal to a baby and to a hundred-year-old lady. I am equal to an airline pilot and a car mechanic. I am equal to you. You are equal to me. It’s that universal. Except that it’s not.

The world is full of assholes. What are you doing to make sure you’re not one of them?

How can we say nobody’s perfect if there is no perfect to compare to? Perfection implies that there really is a right and wrong way to be. And what type of perfection is the best type? Moral perfection? Aesthetic? Physiological? Mental?

In Mexico, everything on the menu is the same dish. The only difference is the way it’s folded.

It’s as if they believe the invisible mike on the plastic menu screen is actually connected to a standup comedy stage somewhere in the recesses of the restaurant.

I sent her a bottle of the most expensive wine on the menu. She sent me a note: “I will not touch a drop of this wine unless you can assure me that you have seven inches in your pants. ” So I wrote back: “Give me the wine. As gorgeous as you are, I’m not cutting off three inches for anyone.

In the menu, there should be a climax and a culmination. Come to it gently. One will suffice.

The menu is not the meal.