We lay on our backs looking at the ceiling and wondering what God had wrought when he made life so sad and disinclined.

I have been writing my heart out all my life, but only getting a living out of it now.... ... it's not a question of the merit of art, but a question of spontaneity and sincerity and joy I say. I would like everybody in the world to tell his full life confession and tell it his own way and then we'd have something to read in our old age.

This was really the way my whole road experience began, and the things that were to come are too fantastic not to tell.

And as far as I can see the world is too old for us to talk about it with our new words.

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

Live, travel, adventure, bless, and don't be sorry.

We were on the roof of America and all we could do was yell