The closet door is open for me, where I left it, since I left it open, it has graciously stayed open.

Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! gone down the American river! Dreams! adorations! illumnations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!

If you want to make order, put your own heart in order, and, having put one's heart in order, one can regulate the family order.

Who can live with this Consciousness and not wake frightened at sunrise?

Poetry is the one place where people can speak their original human mind. It is the outlet for people to say in public what is known in private.

what sphinx of cement and aluminium bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination

Democracy! Bah! When I hear that I reach for my feather boa!