72 Quotes by Dan Johnson

The hangovers are the price I pay. Each skull-splitting excursion down my personal rabbit hole to hell is a guilt tinged reminder of every little fuckin' thing I've ever done wrong and never made amends for.

Heartache is the life force of my people, the agent that ripples eternity and causes history to arc into big crashing waves. Heartache may pass and disappear. Heartache is still there, it is merely invisible, plotting. Heartache is the constant. Heartache is the through line, the central core on which we all radiate, the agent of change. Heartache can neither be created nor destroyed, only transmuted. Heartache is the score and the game; heartache is our eternal currency.

But you can't escape from heartache. That's the rub. It always finds a way back.

Diagnosed ill and off-kilter, poisoners, dreamers, madmen, lunatics, loners, sad ones, bad ones, star pegs in square holes, movers, shakers, mass debaters, tokers, pokers, instigators, conformity haters, subterfuge vessels and assassins of the vassals who lord over free and intelligent men with a dollar held high so that we jump until we die and know not of the pleasures of this life and the freedom of a soul unrestrained from the prison where the only fate is to hang.

Life is absurd; we must learn to enjoy the beautiful amber that coats the fossils of death strewn all around us.

Let the record reflect that the supposedly robust American Democracy was no match for the twin assault of nineteen Arabs with box cutters and an African-American man who made everyone buy health insurance.

Los Angeles was built as a machine of transformation. it mirrors industrialism and the triumph of progress over recalcitrance. But progress is a mixed bill. It has easily brought as much sorrow as joy. We must try to remember that its greatest success is the tilling of raw materials into a dubious finished product.

You can imagine my horror when my mom parked the car on Grand and opened the door. We were dead. I already imagined the Merlot soaked claws of a thousand bums tearing me limb from limb then tobagganing down Second Street on what remained of my torso.

Bright eyed, bushy tailed and fresh faced. These kids were Lawrences and Robbies that hadn't been in the league long enough to mature into Larrys and Bobs. They still had that earnest, hopeful glow like someone who cared was watching. Fame and endorsement deals would start flooding in if they could just squeeze out a triple.