Middle Age At forty-five, What next, what next? At every corner, I meet my Father, My age, still alive.

Talking about the past is like a cat's trying to explain climbing down a ladder.

We are all old-timers, each of us holds a locked razor.

I'm sure that writing isn't a craft, that is, something for which you learn the skills and go on turning out. It must come from some deep impulse, deep inspiration. That can't be taught, it can't be what you use in teaching.

It's the light of the oncoming train.

It's a completely powerful and serious book, as good as anything in prose or poetry written by a 'beat' writer, and one of the most alive books written by any American for years. I don't see how it could be considered immoral.

If youth is a defect, it is one we outgrow too soon.