If you dont [sic] say what you want, what's the sense of writing?

-no girl had ever moved me with a story of spiritual suffering and so beautifully her soul showing out radiant as an angel wandering in hell and the hell the selfsame streets I'd roamed in watching, watching for someone just like her and never dreaming the darkness and the mystery and eventuality of our meeting in eternity.

Some of my most neurotically fierce bitterness is the result of realizing how untrue people have become.

Because the only people for me are the mad ones.

I was amazed by the fact that I was not the only writer living, not the only young man "with a locomotive in his chest, and that's a fact," not the only youth with a million hungers and not one of them appeasable, not the only one who is lonely among multitudes, and does not know why.

Finding Nirvana is like locating silence.

I'd rather be thin than famous but I'm fat paste that in your broadway show