Writing at least is a silent meditation even though you’re going a hundred miles an hour.

It’s a sort of furtiveness … Like we were a generation of furtive. You know, with an inner knowledge there’s no use flaunting on that level, the level of the ‘public’, a kind of beatness – I mean, being right down to it, to ourselves, because we all really know where we are – and a weariness with all the forms, all the conventions of the world … It’s something like that. So I guess you might say we’re a beat generation.

and nobody knows what’s going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of growing old

Ah Japhy you taught me the final lesson of them all, you can't fall off a mountain.

Your mind makes out the orange by seeing it, hearing it, touching it, smelling it, tasting it and thinking about it but without this mind, you call it, the orange would not be seen or heard or smelled or tasted or even mentally noticed, it's actually, that orange, depending on your mind to exist! Don't you see that? By itself it's a no-thing, it's really mental, it's seen only of your mind. In other words it's empty and awake.

The more ups and downs, the more joy I feel. The greater the fear, the greater the happiness I feel.

You guys are going somewhere or just going?