I want a blaze of light to flame in me forever in a timeless, dear love of everything. And why should I pretend to want anything else?

Ah, if I could realize, if I could forget myself and devote my meditations to the freeing, the awakening and the blessedness of all living creatures everywhere I'd realize what there is, is ecstasy.

You don't realize what a strain it is on the nerves to write or think-of-writing all day long, and to sleep full of nervous dreams, and to wake up not knowing who one is: this all stems from anxiety about finishing the book, about time 'growing short', etc., and the perpetual strain of invention.

...most of the time we were alone and mixing up our souls ever more and ever more till it would be terribly hard to say good-by.

I believed in a good home, in sane and sound living, in good food, good times, work, faith and hope. I have always believed in these things. It was with some amazement that I realized I was one of the few people in the world who really believed in these things without going around making a dull middle class philosophy out of it. I was suddenly left with nothing in my hands but a handful of crazy stars.

all day long wearing a hat that wasn't on my head

After all, a homeless man has reason to cry, everything in the world is pointed against him.