Quotes by Hank Moody

What do you think I did! I handled the fuck out of that shit.

The groom should not see you in the dress just before the wedding, that’s bad luck. You know what’s worst luck? Is getting married, itself. I’ve read studies. It’s like 2 out of 3 of those end in divorce, sometimes more. 3 out of 2, some.

I thought I’d start the day with some dry toast and half a grapefruit, bust out the old computer, bang out 10 pages, maybe go for a run. Maybe I’ll just jerk off and go back to bed.

Do whatever you have to do. Beg, plead, cry. Get down on bended knee. ’cause I’m telling you, no amount of top-shelf pussy can compete with the love of a good woman.

You know, most people, they go their whole life, and they never really find someone they love. They say they do because everybody’s the star of their own little romantic comedy, but they’re full of shit. You and me, we had women that loved us for who we were, really loved us for who we were, and we fucked it up. For what? Some stupid piece of ass we forgot about 10 minutes later?

Do not underestimate your inability to attract women.

You keep rolling with the marital discord, and I see you across from Oprah on a big yellow couch. Fingers crossed.

Words is all I have left to play with.

Smell you later.

I’ve done the research. Karen and I belong together.

Don’t tell me what to feel. All my fucking life, people have been telling me I do things wrong. I’m always the fucking asshole. I look around and I see everybody else is infinitely more fucked up than I am.

I am not going to a fucking shrink! I’m a writer! I don’t give that shit away.

I think that’s the good thing about never being married. It’s impossible to divorce.

Rehab is for quitters.

You can’t snort a line of coke off a woman’s ass and not wonder about her dreams. It’s not gentlemanly.

That fucker is the horniest man I’ve ever met! He’ll be pitching a tent on his deathbed.

How the fuck do you option a blog? What is there to option? The title? The font?

I know you Hebrews do things a little differently, but last I checked, a ménage ą trois was not a pit stop on the road to redemption.

I’m trying to mentally masturbate about it, but an image of you keeps popping. That’s a problem.

Not to contradict your dear old mom, who’s both wicked smart and wonderful, but, no, we don’t have to be realistic. Not when it comes to love.

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