Crack is ruining the drug culture.

There might be some serious fun in politics.

When you push a car off a cliff and blow it up, be sure to roll the windows down to avoid shrapnel. Also, strip the license plate so you're not billed for the cleanup.

If you consider the great journalists in history, you don't see too many objective journalists on that list.

These things happen. One day you run everything, and the next day you run like a dog.

I bought a small bottle of beer for fifteen cents and sat on a bench in the clearing, feeling like an old man. The scene I had just witnessed brought back a lot of memories -- not of things I had done but of things I had failed to do, wasted hours and frustrated moments and opportunities forever lost because time had eaten so much of my life and I would never get it back.

There is not much mental distance between a feeling of having been screwed and the ethic of total retaliation, or at least the kind of random revenge that comes with outraging the public decency.

I don't see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness.

Sex, drugs, and insanity have always worked for me, but I wouldn't recommend them for everyone.

A man never stoops so low as when he rises to the challenge of politics.

But our trip was different. It was a classic affirmation of everything right and true and decent in the national character. It was a gross, physical salute to the fantastic possibilities of life in this country-but only for those with true grit. And we were chock full of that.

All my life, my heart has sought a thing I cannot name. Remembered line from a long- forgotten poem.

I will fight for your right to be weird- just as I know you will fight for mine.

Sportswriters are a rude and brainless subculture of fascist drunks, a gang of vicious monkeys jerking off in a zoo cage... more disgusting by nature than maggots oozing out the carcass of a dead animal.

It was wonderful, a stunning happy ending to what began as another tragic rock and roll story, as if Bob Dylan had been arrested in Miami for jacking off in a seedy little XXX theater while stroking the spine of a fat young boy.

The behavior of the crowd at Churchill Downs is like 100,000 vicious Hyenas going berserk all at once in a space about the size of a 777 jet or the White House lawn.

The massive, frustrated energies of a mainly young, disillusioned electorate that has long since abandoned the idea that we all have a duty to vote. This is like being told you have a duty to buy a new car, but you have to choose immediately between a Ford and a Chevy.

Nixon was a crook, of course, but he was also a rabid football fan -- and he knew the game, which still astounds me, but I have always had a soft spot for him because of it.

I have never believed much in luck, and my sense of humor has tended to walk on the dark side.

No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax — This won't hurt