Let the world move along as it pleased. If it had any business with him, it would be sure to tell him.

Like you're riding a train at night across some vast plain, and you catch a glimpse of a tiny light in a window of a farmhouse. In an instant it's sucked back into the darkness behind and vanishes. But if you close your eyes, that point of light stays with you, just barely for a few moments.

No matter how long you stand there examining yourself naked before a mirror, you'll never see reflected what's inside.

A certain type of perfection can only be realized through a limitless accumulation of the imperfect.

Even so, there were times I saw freshness and beauty. I could smell the air, and I really loved rock 'n' roll. Tears were warm, and girls were beautiful, like dreams. I liked movie theaters, the darkness and intimacy, and I liked the deep, sad summer nights.

Generally, people who are good at writing letters have no need to write letters. They've got plenty of life to lead inside their own context.

With each passing moment I'm becoming part of the past. There is no future for me, just the past steadily accumulating.