Everyman, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths.

The city is loveliest when the sweet death racket begins. Her own life lived in defiance of nature, her electricity, her frigidaires, her soundproof walls, the glint of lacquered nails, the plumes that wave across the corrugated sky. Here in the coffin depths grow the everlasting flowers sent by telegraph.

I used to think a bird couldn't fly if its wings got wet.

People used to envy me my inspiration. I hate inspiration. It takes you over completely. I could never wait until it passed and I got rid of it.

And there is a time, glorious too in its own way, when one scarcely exists, when one is a complete void. I mean, when boredom seems the very stuff of life.

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

Music is a beautiful opiate, if you don't take it too seriously.