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.

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

Desolation, desolation, I owe so much to desolation.

Work from pithy middle eye out, swimming in language sea.

Dean and I both swayed to the rhythm and the IT of our final excited joy in talking and living to the blank traced end of all innumerable riotous angelic particulars that had been lurking in our souls all our lives.

Mankind is like dogs, not gods - as long as you don't get mad they'll bite you - but stay mad and you'll never be bitten. Dogs don't respect humility and sorrow.

...but I preferred reading the American landscape as we went along. Every bump, rise, and stretch in it mystified my longing.