What bothers most critics of my work is the goofiness. One reviewer said I need to make up my mind if want to be funny or serious. My response is that I will make up my mind when God does, because life is a commingling of the sacred and the profane, good and evil. To try and separate them is fallacy.

Amnesia is not knowing who one is and wanting desperately to find out. Euphoria is not knowing who one is and not caring. Ecstasy is knowing exactly who one is - and still not caring.

I removed the freeway from its temporal context. Overpasses, cloverleafs, exit ramps took on the personality of Mayan ruins for me. Without destination, without cessation, my run was often silent and empty; there were no increments, no arbitrary graduations reducing time to functional units. I abstracted and purified.

Christianity is merely a system for turning priestesses into handmaidens, queens into concubines, and goddesses into muses.

Heaven is living in your hopes and Hell is living in your fears. It's up to each individual which one he chooses.

Summer had come to sit on New York's face.

Any half-awake materialist well knows - that which you hold holds you.