I knew if I lived long enough I would be poet laureate of something.

Robert was concerned with how to make the photograph, and I with how to be the photograph.

Anxious for some permanency, I guess I needed to be reminded how temporal permanency is.

When you hit a wall, just kick it in.

I preferred an artist who transformed his time, not mirrored it." - reference to Andy Warhol

I got over the loss of his desk and chair, but never the desire to produce a string of words more precious than the emeralds of Cort s.

Please, no matter how we advance in technology please don't abandon the book-there is nothing in our material world more beautiful than a book.

He wasn't certain whether he was a good or bad person. Whether he was altruistic. Whether he was demonic. But he was certain of one thing. He was an artist. And for that he would never apologize.

Holding onto the naive belief that travel will open.

Remember, we are mortal, but poetry is not.

I knew one day I would stop and he would keep on going, but until then nothing could tear us apart.

It was like being at an Arabian hoedown with a band of psychedelic hillbillies (p. 171).

I suspected my soul, being mischievous, might slip away while I was dreaming and fail to return.

Not all dreams need to be realized.

People say beware, but I don't care. Their words are just rules and regulations to me.

The mind of a child is like a kiss on the forehead — open and disinterested

To me, punk rock is the freedom to create, freedom to be successful, freedom to not be successful, freedom to be who you are. It's freedom.

I reflected on the fact that no matter how good I aspired to be, I was never going to achieve perfection

Just come back, I was thinking. You've been gone long enough. Just come back. I will stop traveling; I will wash your clothes.

In time we often become one with those we once failed to understand.

The Lord gives us wings He gives us a stomach we can fly or vomit

I’m sure I could write endlessly about nothing. If only I had nothing to say.

For a time Robert protected me, then was dependent on me, and then possessive of me. His transformation was the rose of Genet, and he was pierced deeply by his blooming.

Christ was a man worthy to rebel against, for he was rebellion itself.

When we awoke he greeted me with his crooked smile, and I knew he was my knight.

We would work side by side for hours, in a state of mutual concentration.

Smile for me, Patti, as I am smiling for you.

The Chelsea was like a doll’s house in the Twilight Zone, with a hundred rooms, each a small universe.

The transformation of the heart is a wondrous thing, no matter how you land there.

Everything I came up with seemed irreverent or irrelevant.

We promised that we'd never leave one another again, until we both knew we were ready to stand on our own. And this vow, through everything we were yet to go through, we kept.

Somehow I started introducing writing into my drawings, and after a time, the language took over and I started getting very involved with the handwriting and then the look of the handwriting.

I knew he didn't love me, but I adored him anyway.

There's always new stuff, that's for sure.

The dark stone in my heart pulsed quietly, igniting like a coal in a hearth. Who is in my heart? I wondered.

A real prison breakfast" I said. "Yeah, but we are free." And that summed it up.

I craved honesty, yet found dishonesty in myself. Why commit to art? For self-realization, or for itself? It seemed indulgent to add to the glut unless one offered illumination.

A wind picked up and I could feel the sea within it.

I may not know what is in your mind, but I know how your mind works.

All I needed for the mind was to be led to new stations. All I needed for the heart was to visit a place of greater storms.

In my way of thinking, anything is possible. Life is at the bottom of things and belief at the top, while the creative impulse, dwelling in the center, informs all.

We seek to stay present, even as the ghosts attempt to draw us away.

My great quandary was what coat to wear and which books to bring.

I was too curious about the future to look back.

Kristus var en v rdig man att g ra uppror mot, f r han var sj lv upproret personifierat.

[W]ithout a doubt we sometimes eclipse our own dreams with reality.

Oh, to be reborn within the pages of a book.

Lost things. They claw through the membranes, attempting to summon our attention through an indecipherable mayday. Words tumble in helpless disorder. The dead speak. We have forgotten how to listen.