I'd sleep and forget it; I had my own life, my own sad and ragged life forever.

The dream is already ended and we're already awake in the golden eternity.

Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.

Books, shmooks, this sickness has got me wishing if I can ever get out of this I'll gladly become a millworker and shut my big mouth.

Believe that the world is an ethereal flower, and ye live.

Oftentimes an originator of new language forms is called 'pretentious' by jealous talents. But it ain’t whatcha write, it’s the way atcha write it.

The cowboy music twanged in the roadhouse and carried across the fields, all sadness. It was all right with me. I kissed my baby and we put out the lights.