Courts Are Places Where The Ending Is

I Remembered My New Orleans Days, Living On Two Five-cent Candy Bars A Day For Weeks At A Time In Order To Have Leisure To Write. But Starvation, Unfortunately, Didn't Improve Art. It Only Hindered It. A Man's Soul Was Rooted In His Stomach. A Man Could Write Much Better After Eating A Porterhouse Steak And Drinking A Pint Of Whiskey Than He Could Ever Write After Eating A Nickel Candy Bar. The Myth Of The Starving Artist Was A Hoax.

And Don't Forget: Time Is Meant To Be Wasted, Love Fails And Death Is Useless.

I Was Born To Hustle Roses Down The Avenue Of The Dead.

I Wasn’t Lonely. I Experienced No Self-pity. I Was Just Caught Up In A Life In Which I Could find No Meaning.

I Take Much Pleasure In Being Alone But There Is Also A Strange Warm Grace In Not Being Alone.