Here, our gentleness is tough; our toughness is gentle.

Action so often accomplishes nothing.

It's best if at the end of the day one is sweaty and dirty.

I drink too much and yet not enough.

Have you been educated in the winding tunnels of mind-funking?

Literature is almost never polite.

I am a wintry soul.

No, I am a rainy soul. No, I am not a soul, without personhood. No, I am the only soul, the everything. But then what would that make you, if anything?

Accepting as foregone the conclusion that you are as hippie as hippie can be, which parts of your hippieness do you denounce? The general grunginess? The transience and shallow connectivity of hippie relationships? The non-productivity of the hippie lifestyle, while the squares grow the food and mend the roads and engineer the furnaces that we hippies survive by?

Do you live with guilt? Do you live with loneliness? Do you live with dirt? is I guess what I'm saying.

All experience is cosmically disappointing.

“Hi, my name is Radigan. My hobbies are embroidery, racecar driving, and heroin.”

There is no complete joy. Every joy is leavened by the immeasurable sadness of its ephemerality.

“What does it feel like to be a man?”
“Painful.”

Don't play Russian roulette with an automatic pistol.

I feel a great sadness for lives not lived. All the decisions made resulting in all the lives precluded...

We live in a harsh gleaming world, the noise is constant, and the light [I forgot the rest]

But got to be somewhere
And nowhere for too long