In expanding the field of knowledge we but increase the horizon of ignorance.

To walk in money through the night crowd, protected by money, lulled by money, dulled by money, the crowd itself a money, the breath money, no least single object anywhere that is not money. Money, money everywhere and still not enough! And then no money, or a little money, or less money, or more money but money always money. and if you have money, or you don't have money, it is the money that counts, and money makes money, but what makes money make money?

If you can fall in love again and again if you can forgive as well as forget, if you can keep from growing sour, surly, bitter and cynical you've got it half licked.

What holds the world together, as I have learned from bitter experience, is sexual intercourse.

My one thought is to get out of New York, to experience something genuinely American.

To the man whose senses are alive and alert there is not even the need to stir from one's threshold.

The poem is the dream made flesh, in a two-fold sense: as work of art, and as life, which is a work of art.