Truth is dissent, where all power resides in the Big Lie.

The suffering itself is not so bad; it's the resentment against suffering that is the real pain.

Others can measure their visions by what we see.

The apparition of an evil, sick unconscious wild city rose before me in visible semblance, and about the dead buildings in the barren air, the bodies of the soul that built the wonderland shuffled and stalked and stalked and lurched in attitudes of immemorial nightmare all around.

My own experience is that a certain kind of genius among students is best brought out in bed.

I don't think there is any truth. There are only points of view.

I think it was when I ran into Kerouac and Burroughs - when I was 17 - that I realized I was talking through an empty skull... I wasn't thinking my own thoughts or saying my own thoughts.