I loved her enough to forget myself, my self-pitying despairs, and be content that something she thought happy was going to happen. - Truman Capote

The problem with living outside the law is that you no longer have its protection.

[F]or us, death is stronger than life, it pulls like a wind through the dark, all our cries burlesqued in joyless laugther; and with the garbage of liveliness stuffed down us untill our guts burst bleeding green, we go screaming round the world, dying, in our rented rooms, nightmare hotels, eternal homes of the transient heart.

Aprils have never meant much to me, autumns seem that season of beginning, spring.