The Sixties were an era of extreme reality. I miss the smell of tear gas. I miss the fear of getting beaten.

I've already become a mastodon in print - I don't see a consciousness for my kind of journalism.

My greatest talent is in my ability to choose good friends. It's about as important as things get.

The most important thing a writer can have [is] the ability to live with the constant loneliness and a strong sense of revulsion for the banalities of everyday socializing.

No sympathy for the devil; keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride...and if it occasionally gets a little heavier than what you had in mind, well...maybe chalk it off to forced conscious expansion: Tune in, freak out, get beaten.

We must ride this strange torpedo out until the end.

As far as I'm concerned, it's a damned shame that a field as potentially dynamic and vital as journalism should be overrun with dullards, bums, and hacks, hag-ridden with myopia, apathy, and complacence, and generally stuck in a bog of stagnant mediocrity.