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

I have all the time in the world from life to life to do what is to do, to do what is done, to do the timeless doing.

Live, travel, adventure, bless, and don't be sorry.

I loved the way she said 'LA'; I love the way everybody says 'LA' on the Coast; it's their one and only golden town when all is said and done.

Never dreaming, was I, poor Jack Duluoz, that the soul is dead. That from Heaven grace descends . . . No Doctor Pisspot Poorpail to tell me; no example inside my first and only skin. That love is the heritage, and cousin to death. That the only love can only be the first love, the only death the last, the only life within, and the only word . . . choked forever.

Goddamn it, FEELING is what I like in art, not CRAFTINESS and the hiding of feelings.

and silence is the golden mountain