Goodness can be found sometimes in the middle of hell.
Animals never worry about Heaven or Hell. Neither do I. Maybe that's why we get along.
The wisest thing to do if you’re living in hell is to make yourself comfortable.
Without literature, life is hell.
I was laying in bed one night and I thought 'I'll just quit - to hell with it.' And another little voice inside me said 'Don't quit - save that tiny little ember of spark.' And never give them that spark because as long as you have that spark, you can start the greatest fire again.
I am not like other people. I am burning in hell. The hell of myself.
If there are junk yards in hell, love is the dog that guards the gates.
There's nothing to stop a man from writing unless that man stops himself. If a man truly desires to write, then he will. Rejection and ridicule will only strengthen him. And the longer he is held back the stronger he will become, like a mass of rising water against a dam. There is no losing in writing, it will make your toes laugh as you sleep, it will make you stride like a tiger, it will fire the eye and put you face to face with death. You will die a fighter, you will be honored in hell. The luck of the word. Go with it, send it.
Those who escape hell however never talk about it and nothing much bothers them after that
Never envy a man his lady. Behind it all lays a living hell.
I tell you such fine music waits in the shadows of hell.
There may not be a hell, but those who judge may create one. I think people are over-taught. They are over-taught everything. You have to find out by what happens to you, how you will react. I'll have to use a strange term here... "good." I don't know where it comes from, but I feel that there's an ultimate strain of goodness born in each of us. I don't believe in God, but I believe in this "goodness" like a tube running through our bodies. It can be nurtured. It's always magic, when on a freeway packed with traffic, a stranger makes room for you to change lanes... it gives you hope.
Each man's hell is in a different place: mine is just up and behind my ruined face.
If you can only remain pure in your stupidity, someday you may get a phone call from hell.
Hell, I'd even failed with women. Three wives. Nothing really wrong each time. It all got destroyed by petty bickering. Railing about nothing. Getting pissed-off over anything and everything. Day by day, year by year, grinding. Instead of helping each other you just sliced away, picked at this or that. Goading. Endless goading. It became a cheap contest. And once you got into it, it became habitual. You couldn't seem to get out. You almost didn't want to get out. And then you did get out. All the way.
Love is a Dog from Hell.
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