It was hard for me to believe. When recess was over I sat in class and thought about it. My mother had a hole and my father had a dong that shot juice. How could they have things like that and walk around as if everything was normal, and talk about things, and then do it and not tell anybody?
In the morning it was morning and I was still alive. Maybe I’ll write a novel, I thought. And then I did.
Any damn fool can beg up some kind of job; it takes a wise man to make it without working.
Food is good for the nerves and the spirit. Courage comes from the belly – all else is desperation.
I wasn’t much of a petty thief. I wanted the whole world or nothing.
Can you remember who you were, before the world told you who you should be?
Wherever the crowd goes run in the other direction. They’re always wrong.
There’s nothing to mourn about death any more than there is to mourn about the growing of a flower. What is terrible is not death but the lives people live or don’t live up until their death.
I was only kidding about the hundred,” she says. oh,” I say, “what will it cost me?” she lights her cigarette with my lighter and looks at me through the flame: her eyes tell me. look,” I say, “I don’t think I can ever pay that price again.
I could scream down 90 mountains to less than dust if only one living human had eyes in the head and heart in the body, but there is no chance, my god, no chance. rat with rat dog with dog hog with hog, play the piano drunk listen to the drunk piano, realize the myth of mercy stand still as even a child’s voice snarls and we have not been fooled, it was only that we wanted to believe.
I held her wrists and then I got it through the eyes: hatred, centuries deep and true. I was wrong and graceless and sick. all the things I had learned had been wasted. there was no creature living as foul as I and all my poems were false.
Her eyes always had a frantic, lost look. He could never cure her eyes of that.
I like women who haven’t lived with too many men. I don’t expect virginity but I simply prefer women who haven’t been rubbed raw by experience. There is a quality about women who choose men sparingly; it appears in their walk in their eyes in their laughter and in their gentle hearts. Women who have had too many men seem to choose the next one out of revenge rather than with feeling. When you play the field selfishly everything works against you: one can’t insist on love or demand affection. You’re finally left with whatever you have been willing to give which often is: nothing.
There’s nothing to stop a man from writing unless that man stops himself. If a man truly desires to write, then he will. Rejection and ridicule will only strengthen him. And the longer he is held back the stronger he will become, like a mass of rising water against a dam. There is no losing in writing, it will make your toes laugh as you sleep, it will make you stride like a tiger, it will fire the eye and put you face to face with death. You will die a fighter, you will be honored in hell. The luck of the word. Go with it, send it.
If I bet on humanity, I’d never cash a ticket.
Show me a man who lives alone and has a perpetually clean kitchen, and 8 times out of 9 I’ll show you a man with detestable spiritual qualities.