I like it because its ugly

Absolutely no way to escape enigmans.

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

The only alternative to sleeping out, hopping freights, and doing what I wanted, I saw in a vision would be to just sit with a hundred other patients in front of a nice television set in a madhouse, where we could be "supervised."

The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved.

To the children and the innocent it's all the same.

Sometimes I’d get mad because things didn’t work out so well, I’d spoil a flapjack, or slip in the snowfield while getting water, or one time my shovel went sailing down into the gorge, and I’d be so mad I’d want to bite the mountaintops and would come in the shack and kick the cupboard and hurt my toe. But let the mind beware, though the flesh be bugged, the circumstances of existence are pretty glorious.