Never mistake talking about writing for actual writing.

At lilac evening I walked with every muscle aching among the lights of 27th and Welton in the Denver colored section, wishing I were a Negro, feeling that the best the white world had offered was not enough ecstasy for me, not enough life, joy, kicks, darkness, music, not enough night.

Because the only people for me are the mad ones.

...do you think God made the world to amuse himself because he was bored? Because if so he would have to be mean.

I was having a wonderful time and the whole world opened up before me because I had no dreams.

Sweet life continues in the breeze, in the golden fields.

Sure baby, mañana. It was always mañana. For the next few weeks that was all I heard––mañana a lovely word and one that probably means heaven.