I went over to see Marina two or three or four times a week. I knew as long as I could see the girl I would be all right…. Soon after, I got a letter from Fay. She and the child were living in a hippie commune in New Mexico. It was a nice place, she said. Marina would be able to breathe there. She enclosed a little drawing the girl had made for me.

There was nothing glorious about the life of a drinker or the life of a writer.

my 6 foot goddess makes me laugh the laughter of the mutilated who still need love... she has saved me from everything that is not here

Some people have written that my writing has helped them go on. It has helped me too. The writing, the roses, the 9 cats.

And it seems people should not build houses anymore it seems people should stop working and sit in small rooms on second floors under electric lights without shades; it seems there is a lot to forget and a lot not to do and in drugstores, markets, bars, the people are tired, they do not want to move, and I stand there at night and look through this house and the house does not want to be built

I have two rules. One is, never trust a man who smokes a pipe. The other is, never trust a man with shiny shoes.

and the color in my eyes has gone back into the sea.