You have to put up with the risk of being misunderstood if you are going to try to communicate.

It's sort of like a mockery in a way of reality because they think everything is smiles and sweetness and flowers when there is something bitter to taste. And to pretend there isn't is foolish. I mean the ones that wonder around and know, at the same time, and yet wear flowers, and they deserve to wear flowers. And they've earned their smile...you can tell by people's eyes.

I'm greedy; I'd like to keep most of it for myself and a few others, a few of my friends . . . to keep that superlative high, just on the cusp of each day . . . so that I'd radiate sunshine.

I'll have to put more earrings on. I bet that someone could analyze me and tell my condition by my earrings.

I came to New York to see what I could see - that's from a children's book, isn't it? - and to find the living part.

Why do people stop developing, or, like they stop the way you can rate their, psychologically, their development? Where they stop, and just from being children to maybe stopping at a very adolescent age, and they stay there until they die. Physically die. I mean, they react adolescently. They don't change. They don't develop. They don't — it's that continual read, that process which is is the total threat for the ego.

It's like my having to walk down thousands and thousands of white marble stairs...and nothing but a very very blue sky, very blue...and I'd have to walk down them forever. I never thought about going up...Don't you think that must mean something?