There are worse things than being mad.

It's good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies

Rather, I think one should write, as nearly as possible, as if he were the first person on earth and was humbly and sincerly putting on paper that which he saw and experienced and loved and lost; what his passing thoughts were and his sorrows and desires.

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.

Everything is perfect on the street again, the world is permeated with roses of happiness all the time, but none of us know it. The happiness consists in realizing that it is all a great strange dream.

I looked up at the dark sky and prayed to God for a better break in life and a better chance to do something for the little people I loved.

My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them.