How many times can a man turn his head, and pretend that he just doesn't see?

He not busy being born is busy dying.

When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud, I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.

She's a hypnotist collector; you are a walking antique.

Everybody knows by now that there's a gazillion books on me either out or coming out in the near future. So I'm encouraging anybody who's ever met me, heard me or even seen me, to get in on the action and scribble their own book. You never know, somebody might have a great book in them.

The hollow horn plays wasted words, proves to warn that he not busy being born is busy dying.

Look at the sun sinkin' like a ship. Ain't that just like my heart, babe. When you kissed my lips?