I really would like to stop working forever–never work again, never do anything like the kind of work I’m doing now–and do nothing but write poetry and have leisure to spend the day outdoors and go to museums and see friends. And I’d like to keep living with someone — maybe even a man — and explore relationships that way. And cultivate my perceptions, cultivate the visionary thing in me. Just a literary and quiet city-hermit existence.

America, how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?

Recent history is the record of one vast conspiracy to impose one level of mechanical consciousness on mankind.

We are all exposed to the flash bulb of death.

I've got enough money to live where I want, but I don't want to move.Go out and have sexual adventures in Burma.

I want to be a saint, a real saint while I am young, for there is so much work to do.

I don’t think there’s any problem with advancing consciousness and becoming more and more aware of the struggle, not with the world, not to convince other people to do anything. The really interesting think is the struggle with the self, and the relation with the self, and there is no end to the improvement that can be done there, the discoveries that can be made.