I'm Catholic and I can't commit suicide, but I plan to drink myself to death.

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

A fine thing to be talking about angels in this day when common thieves smash the holy rosaries of their victims in the street.

Don't use the phone. People are never ready to answer it. Use poetry.

My aunt once said that the world would never find peace until men fell at their women's feet and asked for forgiveness.

The silence is so intense that you can hear your own blood roar in your ears but louder than that by far is the mysterious roar which I alwas identify with the roaring of the diamond wisdom, the mysterious roar of silence itself, which is a great Shhhh reminding you of something you've seemed to have forgotten in the stress of your days since birth.

It’s a sort of furtiveness … Like we were a generation of furtive. You know, with an inner knowledge there’s no use flaunting on that level, the level of the ‘public’, a kind of beatness – I mean, being right down to it, to ourselves, because we all really know where we are – and a weariness with all the forms, all the conventions of the world … It’s something like that. So I guess you might say we’re a beat generation.