Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.
I was surprised, as always, by how easy the act of leaving was, and how good it felt. The world was suddenly rich with possibility.
Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
Your daily life is your temple and your religion.
I looked up at the sky; the pure, wonderful stars were still there, burning.
I was getting drunk and didn't care; everything was fine.
Nothing could disturb this wise calm, this sanity of soul.
Galatea dunkel was a tenacious loser.
You boys going to get somewhere, or just going.
This was a manuscript of the night we couldn't read" - sal paradise.
Hopalong cassidy conducting his great white horse across the traffic;
I play games with her fabulous eyes and she longs to be in a monastery.
I dunno, maybe you’re goat.
It's all a sea, I swim out of its in the afternoons.
It’s good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.
Avoid the world, it's just a lot of dust and drag and means nothing in the end.
Now this warm thought of greatness is a big chill in the wind—for.
So you’re leaving, yo.” We called each other yo.
...The prettiest girls in the world live in des moines.
Be in love with your life every minute of it.
Be in love with everything.
Be in love with yr life.
Ah, holy hole!
This was a manuscript of the night we couldn't read" - sal paradise, on the road.
Everything fell apart in me. How are things with you?
The sparrow hops along the veranda, with wet feet.
We understood each other on other levels of madness.
I was going to grow up to walk in sleet in fields...