To have her here in bed with me, breathing on me, her hair in my mouth—I count that something of a miracle.

Every man is working out his destiny in his own way and nobody can be of any help except by being kind, generous, and patient.

One's destination is never a place but rather a new way of looking at things.

On the meridian of time, there is no injustice: there is only the poetry of motion creating the illusion of truth and drama.

There is no salvation in becoming adapted to a world which is crazy.

Without a Coca-Cola life is unthinkable.

She rises up out of a sea of faces and embraces me, embraces me passionately--- a thousand eyes, noses, fingers, legs, bottles, windows, purses, saucers all glaring at us an we in each other's arm oblivious. I sit down beside her and she talks--- a flood of talk. Wild consumptive notes of hysteria, perversion, leprosy. I hear not a word because she is beautiful and I love her and now I am happy and willing to die.