Death, But Not For You, Gunslinger. Never

I Always Drank, From When It Was Legal For Me To Drink. And There Was Never A Time For Me When The Goal Wasn't To Get As Hammered As I Could Possibly Afford To. I Never Understood Social Drinking, That's Always Seemed To Me Like Kissing Your Sister.

I Have Spent A Good Many Years Since―too Many, I Think―being Ashamed About What I Write. I Think I Was Forty Before I Realized That Almost Every Writer Of Fiction Or Poetry Who Has Ever Published A Line Has Been Accused By Someone Of Wasting His Or Her God-given Talent. If You Write (or Paint Or Dance Or Sculpt Or Sing, I Suppose), Someone Will Try To Make You Feel Lousy About It, That's All.

Why' Is A Crooked Letter And Can't Be Made Straight.

The Past Is Obdurate. It Doesn't Want To Change.

He Lay Back, Put His Arm Over His Eyes, And Tried To Hold Onto The Anger, Because The Anger Made Him Feel Brave. A Brave Man Could Think. A Coward Couldn't.