Life was not to be sitting in hot amorphic leisure in my backyard idly writing or not writing, as the spirit moved me. It was, instead, running madly, in a crowded schedule, in a squirrel cage of busy people. Working, living, dancing, dreaming, talking, kissing- singing, laughing, learning.

You are a dream; I hope I never meet you.

There is a certain clinical satisfaction in seeing just how bad things can get.

I keep wanting to crawl back into the womb.

I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life.

This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary. The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.

I love the people,' I said. 'I have room in me for love, and for ever so many little lives.