They were like the man with the dungeon stone and gloom, rising from the underground, the sordid hipsters of America, a new beat generation that I was slowly joining.

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

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.

...we all must admit that everything is fine and there's no need in the world to worry, and in fact we should realize what it would mean to us to UNDERSTAND that we're not REALLY worried about ANYTHING.

and nobody knows what’s going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of growing old

All of life is a foreign country.

I was surprised, as always, be how easy the act of leaving was, and how good it felt. The world was suddenly rich with possibility.