Sometimes I’d get mad because things didn’t work out so well, I’d spoil a flapjack, or slip in the snowfield while getting water, or one time my shovel went sailing down into the gorge, and I’d be so mad I’d want to bite the mountaintops and would come in the shack and kick the cupboard and hurt my toe. But let the mind beware, though the flesh be bugged, the circumstances of existence are pretty glorious.

I'd rather hop freights around the country and cook my food out of tin cans over wood fires, than be rich and have a home or work.

The page is long, blank, and full of truth. When I am through with it, it shall probably be long, full, and empty with words.

The beat generation (coined in Playboy)

If you tell a true story, you can't be wrong.

It was the work of the quiet mountains, this torrent of purity at my feet.

Everything is ecstasy inside. We just don't know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind [it] is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever.