At lilac evening I walked with every muscle aching among the lights of 27th and Welton in the Denver colored section, wishing I were a Negro, feeling that the best the white world had offered was not enough ecstasy for me, not enough life, joy, kicks, darkness, music, not enough night.

And then we’ll all go off to sweet life, ‘cause now is the time and we all know time!

Genius gives birth, talent delivers. What Rembrandt or Van Gogh saw in the night can never be seen again. Born writers of the future are amazed already at what they're seeing now, what we'll all see in time for the first time, and then see imitated many times by made writers.

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

What's in store for me in the direction I don't take?

I took a straight picture that made me look like a thirty-year-old Italian who'd kill anybody who said something against his mother.

my karma was to be born in America where nobody has any fun or believes in anything, especially freedom.