some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead.

Henry: Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead.

Henry: I remember ordering a draught, barkeep. What, are you out of brew, or has that lobotomy finally taken hold?

Henry: So you hired a dick to find an asshole?

Henry: Baby, What we had was just green corn.

Tully: Do you need a drink?
Henry: Yeah, like a spider needs a fly.

Henry: You know, in the guest house, you could write in peace.
Tully: Hey, Tully baby, nobody who could write worth a damn could ever write in peace, Jesus.

Tully: You can really write. Why do you live like a bum?
Henry: I am a bum. What do you want me to do? Do you want me to write about the sufferings of the upper classes?
Tully: This may be news to you but they suffer too.
Henry: Hey baby, nobody suffers like the poor.

Henry: [Voice over] And as my hands drop the last desperate pen, in some cheap room, they will find me there and never know my name, my meaning, nor the treasure of my escape.

Wanda: Listen, I drink. And when I drink, I move in the wrong direction...

Henry: [to his own bloody face as reflected in the bathroom mirror] Nothing but the dripping sink. Empty bottle. Euphoria. Youth fenced in, stabbed and shaved. Taut words propped up to die