I mean that gods do not limit men. Men limit men.
The Earth is God’s pinball machine and each quake, tidal wave, flash flood and volcanic eruption is the result of a TILT that occurs when God, cheating, tries to win free games.
One of my books is a hallucinogen, an aphrodisiac, a mood elevator, an intellectual garage door opener, and a metaphysical trash compactor. They’ll do everything except rotate your tires.
And who ever said the world was fair, little lady? Maybe death is fair, but certainly not life. We must accept the unfairness as proof of the sublime flux of existence, the capricious music of the universe- and go on about our tasks.
People aren’t trees, so it is false when they speak of roots.
There are people in this world who can wear whale masks and people who cannot, and the wise know to which group they belong.
The gods have chosen to entertain me with chronic eyestrain headaches. Very poisonous episodes. So I don’t do a lot of reading anymore except on tape.
One tended to lose one’s bearings in the presence of willful and persistent acts of craziness, and the more gentle the act, the crazier it seemed, as if rage and violence, being closer to the norm, were easier to accommodate.
O tequila, savage water of sorcery, what confusion and mischief your sly, rebellious drops do generate.
You know a trillion times more about art than me. But I’ve learned that it isn’t necessary to know all that much. You just make what you wanna see, right? It’s a game, right? It’s like being paid for dreaming.
The trickster’s function is to break taboos, create mischief, stir things up. In the end, the trickster gives people what they really want, some sort of freedom.
A spirit cannot soar with only one wing.
When I sit down to write, I just let the goose out of the bottle.
I’m probably more interested in sentences than anything else in life.
I believe in nothing, everything is sacred. I believe in everything, nothing is sacred.
When we can converse with the animals, we will know the change is halfway here. When we can converse with the forest, we will know the change has come.
There is only one serious question. And that is: Who knows how to make love stay? Answer me that and I will tell you whether or not to kill yourself.
America is a nation of 270 million people: 100 million of them are gangsters, another 100 million are hustlers, 50 million are complete lunatics, and every single one of us is secretly in show business. Isn’t that fabulous?
You wonder if God doesn’t have an answering machine to screen out the prayers of the venal and the boring? And in which category has he placed you?
She needed help, but God was in a meeting whenever she rang.