The New York Times is the worst newspaper in the world and it's extremely vicious to artists.

I think fame is something that you've achieved in your inner self that becomes known to others outside you. There are really very few famous people in history.

I think America, really, is over.

As always, I wonder if I'll get through the winter. Then when winter is over, I wonder about the summer. But that's because the system decided which author shall be commercially successful. As I said, the most vicious of them all is The New York Times, because it pretends to be literary and impartial, and it's really this opinionated, myopic, stupid giant of incompetence.

Feeling is taboo, especially in New York. I read in some little magazine the other day that The New Yorker and The New York Times were sclerotic, meaning, "completely turned to rock." The critics here are that way.

I am against all machines. It's no wonder that so many Americans go on dope when they have no other cultural stimulus than a television.

There are no manners left in America at all, because all you're doing is kicking the person next to you so that you can consume more, see more, and get more.