You can't live in this world but there's nowhere else to go.
all I wanted to do was sneak out into the night and disappear somewhere, and go and find out what everybody was doing all over the country.
Maybe that's what life is... a wink of the eye and winking stars.
I was surprised, as always, be how easy the act of leaving was, and how good it felt. The world was suddenly rich with possibility.
She brooded and bit her rich lips: my soul began its first sink into her, deep, heady, lost; like drowning in a witches' brew, Keltic, sorcerous, starlike.
I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling.
Listen closely... the eternal hush of silence goes on and on throughout all this, and has been going on, and will go on and on. This is because the world is nothing but a dream and is just thought of and the everlasting eternity pays no attention to it.
I hope it is true that a man can die and yet not only live in others but give them life, and not only life, but that great consciousness of life.
As we crossed the Colorado-Utah border I saw God in the sky in the form of huge gold sunburning clouds above the desert that seemed to point a finger at me and say, "Pass here and go on, you're on the road to heaven.
Finding Nirvana is like locating silence.
Goddamn it, FEELING is what I like in art, not CRAFTINESS and the hiding of feelings.
My eyes were glued on life and they were full of tears.
I don't know, I don't care, and it doesn't make any difference.
The road must eventually lead to the whole world.
It's okay, girl, we'll make it till the sun goes down forever. And until then what you got to lose but the losing? We're fallen angels who didn't believe that nothing means nothing.
Some of my most neurotically fierce bitterness is the result of realizing how untrue people have become.
You are the equal of the idol who has given you your inspiration
Something great is about to happen to me: I'm about to love somebody very much.
LA is the loneliest and most brutal of American cities; NY gets god-awful cold in the winter but there's a feeling of wacky comradeship somewhere in some streets. LA is a jungle.
I feel guilty for being a member of the human race.
Offer them what they secretly want and they of course immediately become panic-stricken.
This is the story of America. Everybody's doing what they think they're supposed to do.
I promise I shall never give up, and that I'll die yelling and laughing, and that until then I'll rush around this world I insist is holy and pull at everyone's lapel and make them confess to me and to all.
So therefore I dedicate myself, to my art, my sleep, my dreams, my labors, my suffrances, my loneliness, my unique madness, my endless absorption and hunger because I cannot dedicate myself to any fellow being.
If you tell a true story, you can't be wrong.
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