we sat there smoking cigarettes at 5 in the morning.

what matters most is how well you walk through the fire

all that I know is that I believe in the sound of music and the running of a horse. all else is squabble.

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

We waste days like mad blackbirds and pray for alcoholic nightsour silk-sick human smiles wrap around us like somebody else's confetti

your letters got sadder. your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all lovers betray. it didn't help. you said you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and the bridge was over the river and you sat on the crying bench every night and wept for the lovers who had hurt and forgotten you.

Complaint is often the result of an insufficient ability to live within the obvious restrictions of this god damned cage.