“It is not necessary to accept the choices handed down to you by life as you know it.”

It was one of those fine little love stories that can make you smile in your sleep at night.

It was obvious that he was a man who marched through life to the rhythms of some drum I would never hear.

You won’t find reasonable men on the tops of tall mountains.

For every moment of triumph, for every instance of beauty, many souls must be trampled.

Freedom is something that dies unless it’s used.

Graffiti is beautiful; like a brick in the face of a cop.

Buy the ticket, take the ride.

He had that rare weird electricity about him – that extremely wild and heavy presence that you only see in a person who has abandoned all hope of ever behaving normally.

If there is in fact, a heaven and a hell, all we know for sure is that hell will be a viciously overcrowded version of Phoenix.

There are always risks in challenging excessive police power, but the risks of not challenging it are more dangerous, even fatal.

It was like falling down an elevator shaft and landing in a pool full of mermaids.

I’m a word freak. I like words. I’ve always compared writing to music. That’s the way I feel about good paragraphs. When it really works, it’s like music.

I was never trying, necessarily, to be an outlaw. It was just the place in which I found myself.

There is no story unless you’ve written it.

Avoid being seized by the police. The cops are not your friends. Don’t tell them anything.

Writing is the flip side of sex – it’s good only when it’s over.