I didn't know what to say. I felt like crying, Goddammit everybody in the world wants an explanation for your acts and for your very being.

a fool forgetting all the ideals and joys I knew before, in my recent years of drinking and disappointment, what does he care if he hasn't got any money: he doesn't need any money, all he needs is his rucksack with those little plastic bags of dried food and a good pair of shoes and off he goes and enjoys the privileges of a millionaire in surroundings like this.

Genius gives birth, talent delivers. What Rembrandt or Van Gogh saw in the night can never be seen again.

One man practicing kindness in the wilderness is worth all the temples this world pulls.

Swinging on delicate hinges the autumn leaf almost off the stem.

I can't think of anybody...who knows the sum and substance of what I know and feel and cry about in my secret self all the time when I don't feel strong, the sorrows of time and personality, and can therefore on all levels make it all the way with me

-no girl had ever moved me with a story of spiritual suffering and so beautifully her soul showing out radiant as an angel wandering in hell and the hell the selfsame streets I'd roamed in watching, watching for someone just like her and never dreaming the darkness and the mystery and eventuality of our meeting in eternity.