I despise my own nation most. Because I know it best. Because I still love it, suffering from Hope. For me, that's patrotism.

A house built on greed cannot long endure.

I've wrecked and ravaged half my life in the pursuit of women, and I suffer the pangs of about seventeen regrets -- the seventeen who got away.

As between the skulking and furtive poacher, who hunts for the sake of meat, and the honest gentleman shooter, who kills for the pleasure of sport, I find the former a higher type of humanity.

To meet God or Medusa face to face, even if it means risking everything human in myself. I dream of a hard and brutal mysticism in which the naked self merges with the nonhuman world and yet somehow survives still intact individual, separate. Paradox and bedrock.

A cowboy is a farm boy in leather britches and a comical hat.

If wilderness is outlawed, only outlaws can save wilderness.