Everything is perfect on the street again, the world is permeated with roses of happiness all the time, but none of us know it. The happiness consists in realizing that it is all a great strange dream.

Some of my most neurotically fierce bitterness is the result of realizing how untrue people have become.

His friends said, "Why do you have that ugly thing hanging there?" and Bull said, "I like it because it's ugly." All his life was in that line.

We lay on our backs looking at the ceiling and wondering what God had wrought when he made life so sad and disinclined.

You guys are going somewhere or just going?

Holy flowers floating in the air, were all these tired faces in the dawn of Jazz America.

Your mind makes out the orange by seeing it, hearing it, touching it, smelling it, tasting it and thinking about it but without this mind, you call it, the orange would not be seen or heard or smelled or tasted or even mentally noticed, it's actually, that orange, depending on your mind to exist! Don't you see that? By itself it's a no-thing, it's really mental, it's seen only of your mind. In other words it's empty and awake.