Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
Work from pithy middle eye out, swimming in language sea.
Sweet life continues in the breeze, in the golden fields.
Cats yawn because they realize that there's nothing to do.
Everything I wrote was true because I believed what I saw.
Believe that the world is an ethereal flower, and ye live.
Somewhere along the line, the pearl would be handed to me.
I think it's all lovely hallucination but I love it sorta.
It's hard to explain and best thing to do is not be false.
And the story of love is a long sad tale ending in graves.
equally empty, equally to be loved, equally a coming Buddha
All he needed was a wheel in his hand and four on the road.
In my medicine cabinet, the winter fly has died of old age.
We were on the roof of America and all we could do was yell
Whither goest thou, America, in thy shiny car in the night?
It's hard to write haiku. I write long, silly Indian poems.
You can't live in this world but there's nowhere else to go.
February dawn -- frost on the path Where I paced all winter.
We tiptoed around each other like heartbreaking new friends.
Don't think of words when you stop but to see picture better.
One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.
The whole mad swirl of everything that was to come began then.
I don't know, I don't care, and it doesn't make any difference.
Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind.
...and performing our one and noble function of the time, move.
I was a man of the earth, precisely as I had dreamed I would be.
Burroughs is the greatest satirical writer since Jonathan Swift.
Swinging on delicate hinges the autumn leaf almost off the stem.
You are the equal of the idol who has given you your inspiration
If you dont [sic] say what you want, what's the sense of writing?
Maybe that's what life is... a wink of the eye and winking stars.
Who can leap the world's ties and sit with me among white clouds?
Don't use the phone. People are never ready to answer it. Use poetry.
There was nothing to talk about anymore. The only thing to do was go.
Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.
I got all my boyhood in vanilla winter waves around the kitchen stove.
Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for yr own joy
No fear or shame in the dignity of yr experience, language & knowledge
I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all
I promise I shall never give up, and that I'll die yelling & laughing.
We are nothing. - Tomorrow we may be die. We are nothing. - You and me.
I'm right there, swimming the river of hardships but I know how to swim.
Don't tell them too much about your soul. They're waiting for just that.
That's the story of my life rich or poor and mostly poor and truly poor.
I'm going to marry my novels and have little short stories for children.
At night I closed my eyes and saw my bones threading the mud of my grave.
The happiness consists in realizing that it is all a great strange dream.
It was the work of the quiet mountains, this torrent of purity at my feet.
I was suddenly left with nothing in my hands but a handful of crazy stars.
As I grew older I became a drunk. Why? Because I like ecstasy of the mind.
The dream is already ended and we're already awake in the golden eternity.