Hangover: the wrath of grapes.

Some suggestions for you :

Her mind lives tidily, apart from cold and noise and pain. And bolts the door against her heart, out wailing in the rain.

The two most beautiful words in the English language are 'cheque enclosed.

I might repeat to myself, slowly and soothingly, a list of quotations beautiful from minds profound; if I can remember any of the damn things.

What is life, anyway? A death sentence. The longest distance between two points.

Love is like quicksilver in the hand. Leave the fingers open and it stays. Clutch it and it darts away.

That would be a good thing for them to cut on my tombstone: Wherever she went, including here, it was against her better judgment.

If you looked for things to make you feel hurt and wretched and unnecessary, you were certain to find them, more easily each time, so easily, soon, that you did not even realize you had gone out searching.

This wasn't just plain terrible, this was fancy terrible. This was terrible with raisins in it.

I'm not a writer with a drinking problem, I'm a drinker with a writing problem.

I know this will come as a shock to you, Mr. Goldwyn, but in all history, which has held billions and billions of human beings, not a single one ever had a happy ending.

His voice was as intimate as the rustle of sheets.

I'm quite all right. I'm not even scared. You see, I've learned from looking around, there is something worse than loneliness--and that's the fear of it.

He and I had an office so tiny, that an inch smaller and it would have been adultery.

Tell him I was too fucking busy-- or vice versa.