She was desperate and she was choosey at the same time and, in a way, beautiful, but she didn't have quite enough going for her to become what she imagined herself to be.

Not everybody thought they could be a dentist or an automobile mechanic but everybody knew they could be a writer.

Bad luck for the young poet would be a rich father, an early marriage, an early success or the ability to do anything well.

I had noticed that both in the very poor and very rich extremes of society the mad were often allowed to mingle freely.

The whole LSD, STP, marijuana, heroin, hashish, prescription cough medicine crowd suffers from the "Watchtower" itch: you gotta be with us, man, or you're out, you're dead. This pitch is a continual and seeming MUST with those who use the stuff. It's no wonder they keep getting busted.

Belane, are you nuts?" Who knows? Insanity is comparative. Who sets the norm?

as the shadows assume shapes I fight the slow retreat now my once-promise dwindling dwindling now lighting new cigarettes pouring more drinks it has been a beautiful fight still is.