This conversation is bound to turn up. Two guys in a street meet each other, and one of them says, 'Hey, did you hear? Phil Davis died.' 'Phil Davis? I just saw him yesterday.' 'Yeah? : Didn't help. He died anyway. Apparently, the simple act of you seeing him did not slow down his cancer. In fact, it may have made it more aggressive. You know, you could be the cause for Phil's death. How do you live with yourself?'

I'd like to begin by saying fuck Lance Armstrong. Fuck him and his balls and his bicycles and his steroids and his yellow shirts and the dumb empty expression …

'Every child is special.' Boy, they said it over and over, as if to convince themselves, 'every child is special', and I kept saying, 'fuuuck you!' Every child…

I'm not giving anything back to the community. You know why? Because I didn't take nothing. You can search my fucking house.

This is the funeral pyre and Troy is dead That sparkled so the day I saw it first, And darkened slowly after. I am she Who loves all beauty - yet I wither it.

As you can see, I'm in good health. I have no message; just tell them, please, that I went to my death quietly and in good health.

A physician can sometimes parry the scythe of death, but has no power over the sand in the hourglass.