The Haight is just a place; the '60s was a spirit.

turns me on so loud it's like no sound, everybody yelling at me hands over their ears from behind a glass wall, faces working around in talk circles but no sound from the mouths. my sound soaks up all other sound.

I listened to them fade away till all I could hear was my memory of the sound.

All that five thousand kids lived in those five thousand houses, owned by guys that got off the train. The houses looked so much alike that, time and time again, the kids went home by mistake to different houses and different families. Nobody ever noticed.

When Shakespeare was writing, he wasn't writing for stuff to lie on the page; it was supposed to get up and move around.

Leary can get a part of my mind that's kind of rusted shut grinding again, just by being around him and talking.

There's something about taking a plow and breaking new ground. It gives you energy.