The crowd is the gathering place of the weakest; true creation is a solitary act.

it is good to be sitting some place in public at 2:30 in the afternoon without getting the flesh ripped from your bones.

alone with everybody the flesh covers the bone and they put a mind in there and sometimes a soul, and the women break vases against the walls and them men drink too much and nobody finds the one but they keep looking crawling in and out of beds. flesh covers the bone and the flesh searches for more than flesh. there's no chance at all: we are all trapped by a singular fate. nobody ever finds the one. the city dumps fill the junkyards fill the madhouses fill the hospitals fill the graveyards fill nothing else fills.

for a man of 55 who didn't get laid until he was 23 and not very often until he was 50 I think that I should stay listed via Pacific Telephone until I get as much as the average man has had

I am aware that a computer can’t create a poem, but neither can a typewriter.

Do you hate people? I don't hate them...I just feel better when they're not around.

I tell you such fine music waits in the shadows of hell.