I know the outer world as well as you do, and I judge it. You know nothing of my inner world, and yet you presume to judge that world.

What’s the point of truth or beauty or knowledge when anthrax bombs are popping all around you?

What the rest of us see only under the influence of mescalin, the artist is congenitally equipped to see all the time.

Ultimate Reality is not clearly and immediately apprehended except by those who have made themselves loving, pure in heart and poor in spirit.

You should hurry up and acquire the cigar habit. It's one of the major happinesses. And so much more lasting than love, so much less costly in emotional wear and tear.

I've never discussed my writing with others much, but I don't believe it can do any harm. I don't think that there's any risk that ideas or materials will evaporate.

Which is better: to have fun with fungi or to have Idiocy with ideology, to have wars because of words, to have tomorrow's misdeeds out of yesterday's miscreeds?