We must find out what words are and how they function. They become images when written down, but images of words repeated in the mind and not of the image of the thing itself.

You know, they ask me if I were on a desert island and I knew nobody would ever see what I wrote, would I go on writing. My answer is most emphatically yes. I would go on writing for company. Because I'm creating an imaginary - it's always imaginary - world in which I would like to live.

You see, control can never be a means to any practical end...It can never be a means to anything but more control...like junk.

The beautiful disease and The government falls along the weed rooms flesh along the weed government.

Love is a haunting melody that I have never mastered, and I fear I never will.

In this world, [of Flash and Filigree] nothing is true, and censure or outrage is simply irrelevant.

A paranoid is someone who knows a little of what's going on.