He was in his chair in the corner, resting a second before he came out for the next round -- in a long line of next rounds. The thing he was fighting, you couldn't whip it for good. All you could do was keep on whipping it, till you couldn't come out anymore and somebody else had to take your place.

Tricker the Squirrel is the best piece I ever wrote. It's intricate.

There’s no doubt in my mind that McMurphy’s won, but I’m not sure what.

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

You had a choice: you could either strain and look at things that appeared in front of you in the fog, painful as it might be, or you could relax and lose yourself

I've found psychedelics to be keys to worlds that have always existed, that have to be talked about.

High high in the hills , high in a pine tree bed. She's tracing the wind with that old hand, counting the clouds with that old chant, Three geese in a flock one flew east one flew west one flew over the cuckoo's nest