Holding up my purring cat to the moon. I sighed.

Sweet life continues in the breeze, in the golden fields.

The bus roared on. I was going home in October. Everybody goes home in October.

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.

I have all the time in the world from life to life to do what is to do, to do what is done, to do the timeless doing.

Mainly I've been back to my books and writings and being nice and quiet and lazy. As I'm writing this, the radio says there's a foot of snow falling on Long Island. I really love snow and wish I could take a long walk in it right now.

Finding Nirvana is like locating silence.