Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for yr own joy.
If you own a rug you own too much.
One man practicing kindness in the wilderness is worth all the temples this world pulls.
Forgive everyone for your own sins and be sure to tell them you love them which you do.
Ray, what you got to do is go climb a mountain...
I’m going to marry my novels and have little short stories for children.
No man should go through life without once experiencing healthy, even bored solitude in the wilderness, finding himself depending solely on himself and thereby learning his true and hidden strength.
It all ends in tears anyway.
Roaring dreams take place in a perfectly silent mind. Now that we know this, throw the raft away.
I’m writing this book because we’re all going to die.
The beauty of things must be that they end.
Pain or love or danger makes you real again...
As I grew older I became a drunk. Why? Because I like ecstasy of the mind.
The bus roared on. I was going home in October. Everybody goes home in October.
Return those shoes to the shoemaker Return this hand to my father This pillow to the pillowmaker Those slippers to the shop. That wainscot to the carpenter, But my mind my tranquil and eternal Mind Return it to whom?
Swinging on delicate hinges the autumn leaf almost off the stem.
And when the fog’s over and the stars and the moon come out at night it’ll be a beautiful sight.
When you’ve understood this scripture, throw it away. If you can’t understand this scripture, throw it away. I insist on your freedom.
Life must be rich and full of loving – it’s no good otherwise, no good at all, for anyone.
Something good will come of all things yet.