English words are like prisms. Empty, nothing inside, and still they make rainbows.

All the modern verse plays, they're terrible; they're mostly about the poetry. It's more important that the play is first.

I make the road. I draw the map. Nothing just happens to me...I'm the one happening.

When we were arguing on my twenty-fourth birthday, she left the kitchen, came back with a pistol, and fired it at me five times from right across the table. But she missed. It wasn't my life she was after. It was more. She wanted to eat my heart and be lost in the desert with what she'd done, she wanted to fall on her knees and give birth from it, she wanted to hurt me as only a child can be hurt by its mother.

There's so much goop inside of us, man," he said, "and it all just wants to get out.

We’d torn open our chests and shown our cowardly hearts, and you can never stay friends after something like that

What's funny about Jesus' Son is that I never even wrote that book, I just wrote it down. I would tell these stories and people would say, You should write these things down.