[...] My wild words slip into fusion and risk losing the solid ground. So stranger, get wilder still. Probe the highlands.

The appeal of cinema lies in the fear of death.

Where are the feasts we were promised? Where is the wine, the new wine, dying on the vine.

There may be a time when we'll attend Weather Theaters to recall the sensation of rain.

Give form to the passing World. Freeways are a drama.

Film spectators are quiet vampires.

In the beginning we were creating our music, ourselves, every night . . . starting with a few outlines, maybe a few words for a song. Sometimes we worked out in Venice, looking at the surf. We were together a lot and it was good times for all of us. Acid, sun, friends, the ocean, and poetry and music.