And then we’ll all go off to sweet life, ’cause now is the time and we all know time!
She spoke of evenings in the country making popcorn on the porch. Once this would have gladdened my heart but because her heart was not glad when she said it I knew there was nothing in it but the idea of what one should do.
Besides, all my New York friends were in the negative, nightmare position of putting down society and giving their tired bookish or political or psychoanalytical reasons, but Dean just raced in society, eager for bread and love.
It was the work of the quiet mountains, this torrent of purity at my feet.
For the first time in my life the weather was not something that touched me, that caressed me, froze or sweated me, but became me.
That’s the story of my life rich or poor and mostly poor and truly poor.
Somewhere along the line I knew there’d be girls, visions, everything; somewhere along the line the pearl would be handed to me.
We fumed and screamed in our mountain nook, mad drunken Americans in the mighty land. We were on the roof of America and all we could do was yell, I guess – across the night...
This was really the way my whole road experience began, and the things that were to come are too fantastic not to tell.
Keep it kickwriting at all costs too, that is, write only what kicks you and keeps you overtime awake from sheer mad joy.
I’d rather be thin than famous but I’m fat paste that in your broadway show.
Nothing ever happened – Not even this.
Life is life, and kind is kind.
Mankind is like dogs, not gods – as long as you don’t get mad they’ll bite you – but stay mad and you’ll never be bitten. Dogs don’t respect humility and sorrow.
And the Hippos were boiled in their tanks!
The human bones are but vain lines dawdling, the whole universe a blank mold of stars.
Prison is where you promise yourself the right to live.
All our best men are laughed at in this nightmare land.
Write in recollection and amazement for yourself.
You can’t teach the old maestro a new tune.