The air was so sweet in New Orleans it seemed to come in soft bandannas; and you could smell the river and really smell the people, and mud, and molasses, and every kind of tropical exhalation, with your nose suddenly removed from the dry ices of a Northern winter.
When you start separating people from their rivers, what have you got? Bureaucracy!
Believe that the world is an ethereal flower, and ye live.
The fact that everybody in the world dreams every night ties all mankind together.
Pain or love or danger makes you real again.
That's the story of my life rich or poor and mostly poor and truly poor.