Man, wow, there's so many things to do, so many things to write! How to even begin to get it all down and without modified restraints and all hung-up on like literary inhibitions and grammatical fears.

But there's no joy at all, people say "Oh well he's drunk and happy let him sleep it off"--The poor drunkard is *crying*--He's crying for his mother and father and great brother and great friend, he's crying for help. (p.111)

I don't wanta hear all your word descriptions of words words words you made up all winter, man I wanta be enlightened by actions.

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.

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

My life is a vast inconsequential epic.

...do you think God made the world to amuse himself because he was bored? Because if so he would have to be mean.