The association of motorcycles with LSD is no accident of publicity. They are both a means to an end, to the place of definitions.
When you push a car off a cliff and blow it up, be sure to roll the windows down to avoid shrapnel. Also, strip the license plate so you’re not billed for the cleanup.
He had that rare weird electricity about him – that extremely wild and heavy presence that you only see in a person who has abandoned all hope of ever behaving normally.
Never mind the track. The track is for punks. We are Road People. We are Cafe Racers.
But I am in the gambling business, for good or ill; it is the business I have chosen, and the only governing rule that we all recognize is: always sit close to an exit and never trust a man who doesn’t sweat.
The Jews don’t beleive in Jesus! Why should I?! WHOOOEEEE!!
Words are such a poor medium when you really want someone to feel something.
I wouldn’t be at all surprised, as hideous and dumb as it sounds, at an invasion of Iraq.
They’re gonna make it look like suicide. I know how those bastards think.
I was never trying, necessarily, to be an outlaw. It was just the place in which I found myself.
What passed for society was a loud, giddy whirl of thieves and pretentious hustlers, a dull sideshow full of quacks and clowns and philistines with gimp mentalities.
There are times, however, and this is one of them, when even being right feels wrong. What do you say, for instance, about a generation that has been taught that rain is poison and sex is death?
Platitudes are safe, because they’re easy to wink at, but truth is something else again.
Las Vegas is the savage heart of the American Dream.
There’s a terrible danger in voting for the lesser of two evils because the parties can set it up that way.
There was no time for scholarly details, and, besides, I have always believed that a man can fairly be judged by the standards and taste of his choices in matters of high-level plagiarism.
Never create anything, it will be misinterpreted, it will chain you and follow you for the rest of your life.
One of the advantages of being dead, I guess, is that somebody else can edit all this.
If you consider the great journalists in history, you don’t see too many objective journalists on that list.
Sportswriters are a rude and brainless subculture of fascist drunks.