Sometimes a man doesn’t know what to do about things and sometimes it’s best to lie very still and try not to think at all about anything.

We are like roses that have never bothered to bloom when we should have bloomed and it is as if the sun has become disgusted with waiting

i am with the roots of flowers entwined, entombed sending up my passionate blossoms as a flight of rockets and argument; wine churls my throat, above me feet walk upon my brain, monkies fall from the sky clutching photographs of the planets, but i seek only music and the leisure of my pain

Only the boring get bored

Love came hard and very seldom. When it did it was usually for the wrong reasons.

It’s so easy to be easy—if you let it.

life itself is not the miracle. that pain should be so constant, that's the miracle -