Once the law starts asking questions, there's no stopping them.

I miss you so much your absence causes me, at times, accute pain. I don't mean sexually. I mean in connection with my writing.

Junk is the ideal product... the ultimate merchandise. No sales talk necessary. The client will crawl through a sewer and beg to buy.

The self is like a pimping blackmailing chauffeur who gets you from here to there on word lines.

The idea that anyone can use drugs and escape a horrible fate is anathema to these idiots. I predict in the near future right-wingers will use drug hysteria as a pretext to set up an international police apparatus.

Artists to my mind are the real architects of change.

What does the money machine eat? It eats youth, spontaneity, life, beauty, and, above all, it eats creativity. It eats quality and sh*ts quantity.