She worries over the way her love for me comes and goes, appears and disappears. She doubts its reality simply because it isn't as steadily pleasurable as a kitten. God knows it is sad. The human voice conspires to desecrate everything on earth.

If I were God, I certainly wouldn't want people to love me sentimentally. It's too unreliable.

If I'd wanted this place to fill up with every fat Irish rose that passes by, I'd've said so.

The goddam movies. They can ruin you. I'm not kidding

I mean it's very hard to meditate and live a spiritual life in America. People think you're a freak if you try to.

I’m not going to bed after all. Somebody around here hath murdered sleep. Good for him.

I just hope that one day - preferably when we’re both blind drunk - we can talk about it.