Everything in Los Angeles is too large, too loud and usually banal in concept… The plastic asshole of the world.

I say money has no value; it's just the way you spend it.

No one individual can tell the truth.

Wonder. Go on and wonder.

That's the one trouble with this country: everything, weather, all, hangs on too long. Like our rivers, our land: opaque, slow, violent; shaping and creating the life of man in its implacable and brooding image.

I am trying to say it all in one sentence, between one cap and one period.

And we'd sit in the dry leaves that whispered a little with the slow respiration of our waiting and with the slow breathing of the earth and the windless october, the rank smell of the lantern fouling the brittle air, listening to the dog and the echo of louis' voice dying away