He had no place he could stay in without getting tired of it and because there was nowhere to go but everywhere, keep rolling under the stars.

What difference does it make after all?--anonymity in the world of men is better than fame in heaven, for what’s heaven? what’s earth? All in the mind.

It was the work of the quiet mountains, this torrent of purity at my feet.

Write in recollection and amazement for yourself.

I was halfway across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future.

the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.

Better to sleep in an uncomfortable bed free, than sleep in a comfortable bed unfree.