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I made myself famous by writing 'songs' and lyrics about the beauty of the things I did and ugliness, too.

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Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for yr own joy

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...that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn’t know who I was—I was far away from home, haunted and tired wi...more

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A poet is a blind optimist.The world is against him formany reasons. But thepoet persists. He believesthat he is on the right track,no matter what any...more

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I was amazed by the fact that I was not the only writer living, not the only young man "with a locomotive in his chest, and that's a fact," not the on...more

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The Grim Reaper isn't grim at all; he's a life-saver. He isn't grim because he isn't anything. . . . he is nothing. And nothing is a hell of a lot bet...more

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A man cannot impart the true feeling of things to others unless he himself has experienced what he is trying to tell of.

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I am young now and can look upon my body and soul with pride. But it will be mangled soon, and later it will begin to disintegrate, and then I shall d...more

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It’s a sort of furtiveness … Like we were a generation of furtive. You know, with an inner knowledge there’s no use flaunting on that level, the level...more

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Hateful bitch of a world, it wouldn't ever last.

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Work from your own side of literature/ & room fetish, not "publishing's" -

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The trouble with fashions is you want to fuck the women in their fashions but when the time comes they always take them off so they don't get wrinkled...more

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Hell man, I know very well you didn't come to me only to want to become a writer, and after all what do I really know about it except that you've got ...more

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I was suddenly left with nothing in my hands but a handful of crazy stars.

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At night in this part of the West the stars, as I had seen them in Wyoming, were as big as Roman Candles and as lonely as the Prince who's lost his an...more