You don't realize what a strain it is on the nerves to write or think-of-writing all day long, and to sleep full of nervous dreams, and to wake up not knowing who one is: this all stems from anxiety about finishing the book, about time 'growing short', etc., and the perpetual strain of invention.

I was a man of the earth, precisely as I had dreamed I would be.

Something that you feel will find its own form.

The beat generation (coined in Playboy)

One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.

The taste of rain -- Why kneel?

Your Buddhism has made you mean Ray and makes you even afraid to take your clothes off for a simple healthy orgy