The trouble about jumping was that if you didn't pick the right number of stories, you might still be alive when you hit bottom.

I wanted to crawl in between those black lines of print, the way you crawl through a fence, and go to sleep under that beautiful big green fig-tree.

I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night.

* to know a lot of people I love pieces of, and to want to synthesize those pieces in me somehow, be it by painting or writing. * to know that millions of others are unhappy and that life is a gentleman's agreement to grin and paint your face gay so others will feel they are silly to be unhappy, and try to catch the contagion of joy, while inside so many are dying of bitterness and unfulfillment.

You have to be able to make a real creative life for Yourself, before you can expect anyone Else to provide one ready-made for you.

I cut you out because I couldn't stand being a passing fancy.

I ride earth's burning carousel. Day in, day out.