A man who allows wild passion to arise within, himself burns his heart, then after burning adds the wind that thereto which ignites the fire again, or not, as the case may be.

What's your road, man? - holyboy road, madman road, rainbow road, guppy road, any road. It's an anywhere road for anybody anyhow. Where body how?

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

Don't use the phone. People are never ready to answer it. Use poetry.

I was suddenly left with nothing in my hands but a handful of crazy stars.

LA is the loneliest and most brutal of American cities; NY gets god-awful cold in the winter but there's a feeling of wacky comradeship somewhere in some streets. LA is a jungle.

I'm not a beatnik. I'm a Catholic.