In deep sadness there is no place for sentimentality. It is as final as the mountains: a fact. There it is. When you realize it you cannot complain.
William S. BurroughsDeath was in every sell of his body. He gave off a faint, greenish steam of decay. Lee imagined he would glow in the dark.
William S. BurroughsQuien sabe? Not me. The older I get the less I sabe, the less wisdom, maturity and caution I have.
William S. BurroughsA writer does not own words any more than a painter owns colors. So lets dispense with this originality fetishโฆ Look, listen and transcribe and forget about being original.
William S. BurroughsAs a young child I wanted to be a writer because writers were rich and famous. They lounged around Singapore and Rangoon smoking opium in a yellow pongee silk suit. They sniffed cocaine in Mayfair and they penetrated forbidden swamps with a faithful native boy and lived in the native quarter of Tangier smoking hashish and languidly caressing a pet gazelle.
William S. Burroughs