We fumed and screamed in our mountain nook, mad drunken Americans in the mighty land. We were on the roof of America and all we could do was yell, I guess - across the night.

...most of the time we were alone and mixing up our souls ever more and ever more till it would be terribly hard to say good-by.

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

Down on the lake rosy reflections of celestial vapor appeared, and I said, "God, I love you" and looked to the sky and really meant it. "I have fallen in love with you, God. Take care of us all, one way or the other." To the children and the innocent it's all the same.

At night I closed my eyes and saw my bones threading the mud of my grave.

Eager for bread and love.

I am young now and can look upon my body and soul with pride. But it will be mangled soon, and later it will begin to disintegrate, and then I shall die, and die conclusively. How can we face such a fact, and not live in fear?