I wasn’t scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost.
We were on the roof of America and all we could do was yell.
I like it because its ugly.
The dream is already ended and we’re already awake in the golden eternity.
We all agree it’s too big to keep up with, that we’re surrounded by life, that we’ll never understand it, so we center it all in by swigging Scotch from the bottle and when it’s empty I run out of the car and buy another one, period.
We tiptoed around each other like heartbreaking new friends.
I was a man of the earth, precisely as I had dreamed I would be.
I was having a wonderful time and the whole world opened up before me because I had no dreams.
We agreed to love each other madly.
Your Buddhism has made you mean Ray and makes you even afraid to take your clothes off for a simple healthy orgy.
I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all.
The silence was an intense roar.
Mind is the Maker, for no reason at all, for all this creation, created to fall.
It’s only through form that we can realize emptiness.
There are worse things than being mad.
Who doesn’t feel studious when he doesn’t have a girl with a Riviera suntan?
The unspeakable visions of the individual.
The details are the life of it, I insist, say everything on your mind, don’t hold back, don’t analyze or anything as you go along, say it out.
We lay on our backs looking at the ceiling and wondering what God had wrought when he made life so sad and disinclined.
To the children and the innocent it’s all the same.