The prostitutes worked for a pimp now. He was splendid and cruel. He was a god to them. He took their free will away from them, which was perfectly all right. They didn't want it anyway. It was as though they had surrendered themselves to Jesus, for instance, so they could live unselfishly and trustingly-except that they had surrendered to a pimp instead.

You meet saints everywhere. They can be anywhere. They are people behaving decently in an indecent society.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but the living room in your fortified compound.

We went to the New York World's Fair, saw what the past had been like, according to the Ford Motor Car Company and Walt Disney, saw what the future would be like, according to General Motors. And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep.

There's only one rule that I know of, babies—God damn it, you've got to be kind.

I have no culture, no humane harmony in my brains. I can't live without a culture anymore.

It is a sobering thought that Gomer Pyle and the Beverly Hillbillies may be among our chief interstellar emissaries.