The world is two thirds spaghetti and meatballs, one third syphilitic chancre.

Every man has his own destiny: the only imperative is to follow it, to accept it, no matter where it leads him.

My hunger and curiosity drive me forward in all directions at once.

For a metaphysical treat stop at the Big Sur Inn, which is also a haven for stray cats and dogs. Life along the South Coast is just a bed of roses, with a few thorns and nettles interspersed.

Day by day. No yesterdays and no tomorrows. The barometer never changes, the flag is always at half-mast.

The smile was so painfully swift and fleeting that it was like the flash of a knife.

This is not a book in the ordinary sense of the word. No, this is a prolonged insult, a gob of spit in the face of art, a kick in the pants to God, Man, Destiny, Time, Love, Beauty... what you will.