I was halfway across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future.
After all, a homeless man has reason to cry, everything in the world is pointed against him.
There was nothing to talk about anymore. The only thing to do was go.
The empty blue sky of space says 'All this comes back to me, then goes again, and comes back again, then goes again, and I don't care, it still belongs to me
Lying mouth to mouth, kiss to kiss in the pillow dark, loin to loin in unbelievable surrendering sweetness so distant from all our mental fearful abstractions it makes you wonder why men have termed God antisexual somehow (p. 148)
Writing at least is a silent meditation even though you’re going a hundred miles an hour.
It's hard to explain and best thing to do is not be false.
Let the mind beware, that though the flesh be bugged, the circumstances of existence are pretty glorious.
I felt free and therefore I was free.
The dream is already ended and we're already awake in the golden eternity.
In our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever...listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot, It is all one vast awakened thing. We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere: Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes into everything is one thing. It's a dream already ended.
We tiptoed around each other like heartbreaking new friends.
Everything I wrote was true because I believed what I saw.
A sociable smile is nothing but a mouth full of teeth.
Never mistake talking about writing for actual writing.
I suddenly began to realize that everybody in America is a natural-born thief.
I'm not a beatnik. I'm a Catholic.
They build their own Hells.
As far as I'm concerned the only thing to do is sit in a room and get drunk
A pain stabbed my heart as it did every time I saw a girl I loved who was going the opposite direction in this too-big world.
I'd better be a poet Or lay down dead.
Happy. Just in my swim shorts, barefooted, wild-haired, in the red fire dark, singing, swigging wine, spitting, jumping, running - that's the way to live. All alone and free in the soft sands of the beach.
Swinging on delicate hinges the autumn leaf almost off the stem.
But, outside of being a sweet little girl, she was awfully dumb and capable of doing horrible things.
Are we fallen angels who didn't want to believe that nothing is nothing and so were born to lose our loved ones and dear friends one by one and finally our own life, to see it proved?
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: