I live my life like an open book, even though it's open on the wrong page.

My theory is that the way you cope with the depths will ascertain the heights that you reach - they are intimately connected - and if you have a lust for life, you are also going to have a lust for death.

You may look back on your life and accept it as good or evil. But it is far, far harder to admit that you have been completely unimportant; that in the great sum of things, all a man's endless grapplings are no more significant than the scuttlings of a cockroach.

The universe is neither friendly nor hostile. It is merely indifferent. This makes me ecstatic.

I don't talk, I quote. I can't help it. It's better to be quotable than honest.

I am not an intellectual. An intellectual is someone who looks at a sausage and thinks of Picasso, whereas I just say 'pass the mustard'.