Each of us assumes everyone else knows what he is doing. They all assume we know what we are doing. We don't.

Maybe I'll go where I can see stars, he said to himself as the car gained velocity and altitude; it headed away from San Francisco, toward the uninhabited desolation to the north. To the place where no living thing would go. Not unless it felt that the end had come.

And of course, in my writing, there is the constant theme of music, love of, preoccupation with, music. Music is the single thread making my life into a coherency.

Each of us assumes everyone else knows what HE is doing. They all assume we know what WE are doing. We don't...Nothing is going on and nobody knows what it is. Nobody is concealing anything except the fact that he does not understand anything anymore and wishes he could go home.

No matter how long a log stays in the water, it doesn't become a crocodile.

…we all lie to ourselves; we tell our own selves more lies than we ever do other people.

You're killing yourself with cynicism. Your idols got taken away from you one by one and now you have nothing to give your love to.