I really believe, or want to believe, really I am nuts, otherwise I'll never be sane.

I don't do anything with my life except romanticize and decay with indecision.

Unholy battered old thing you were, my sunflower O my soul, I loved you then!

Concentrate on what you want to say to yourself and your friends. Follow your inner moonlight; don't hide the madness. You say what you want to say when you don't care who's listening.

The real America that Whitman proclaimed and Thoreau decoded.

That's what the shaman said. He didn't know what he was up against. He didn't expect the strength and weight and evil intensity of this spirit, this "entity," as he called it. The same way the priest in an exorcism has to take on the spirit.

The combination of drugs, homosexuality, some good prose recited on screen. . . . In the sweat lodge ceremony we went through, did you get any glimpse of the Ugly Spirit, what that was historically or biographically?