Between incomprehensible and incoherent sits the madhouse. I am not in the madhouse.

I rather like the idea of having all my hours to myself: eating a Fudge Sundae, watching a movie, sleeping on my couch, singing in the bathroom, studying the woods, kidding around with a girl, playing cards lazily - all kinds of stuff that American brands 'shiftless.'

Because anybody can write, but not everybody invents new forms of writing. Gertrude Stein invented a new form of writing and her imitators are just "talents."

I feel guilty for being a member of the human race.

Paris is a woman but London is an independent man puffing his pipe in a pub.

I was having a wonderful time and the whole world opened up before me because I had no dreams.

Let the mind beware, that though the flesh be bugged, the circumstances of existence are pretty glorious.