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

I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till i drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.

The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved.

If you own a rug you own too much.

equally empty, equally to be loved, equally a coming Buddha

The silence was an intense roar.

My aunt once said that the world would never find peace until men fell at their women's feet and asked for forgiveness.