I must go down to the seas again to find where I buried the hatchet with Yesterday.

I have discovered that my freedom is within me, and nothing can destroy it.

Writing a novel is not merely going on a shopping expedition across the border to an unreal land: it is hours and years spent in the factories, the streets, the cathedrals of the imagination.

For in spite of the snapdragons and the duty millers and the cherry blossoms, it was always winter.

I am not really a writer. I am just someone who is haunted, and I will write the hauntings down.

For your own good is a persuasive argument that will eventually make a man agree to his own destruction.

Very often the law of extremity demands an attention to irrelevance.

It would be nice to travel if you knew where you were going and where you would live at the end or do we ever know, do we ever live where we live, we're always in other places, lost, like sheep.

There is no past or future. Using tenses to divide time is like making chalk marks on water.

Life is hell, but at least there are prizes. Or so one thought.

So we went to bed, assaulted by sleep that fumed at us from medicine glasses, or was wielded from small sweet-coated tablets -- dainty bricks of dream wrapped in the silk stockings of oblivion.

It's hard to get motivated fixing a compile-time syntax error when you can buy a powder that turns a house into a monster.

We evolve, that means our life’s purpose and perception changes from time to time because we are a part of an infinitely long chain of evolution which is doomed to death.

Where is there a boy to whom the call of the wild and the open road does not appeal?

I believe we all have the Voice of Reason inside us...to gently lead us out of our own self-created hells.

Drugs in a disco are great for white people because it allows them to feel more Puerto Rican while dancing.

Love that endures, from life that disappears!

Everybody should write a book whether you get it published or not because the experience of sort of taking it all and throwing it down on paper is unbelievably cathartic.

To think someone can go out and sell something about you is really disgusting. I'm much more careful now.

As long as the "I" is there, love cannot be. All that we call love is only desire, longing, passion and attachment; as long as ego is there, all these bind one.

One can choose life, or choose death. Having chosen life, I must live it as it is.