Democracy! Bah! When I hear that I reach for my feather Boa!
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Ah, Nothing is too late, till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate. Longfellow
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Kyo: Of course, I'll beat YOU, too!Yuki: Don't you ever get tired of saying that?Kyo: Beating you is my vocation! It's my goal in life!Yuki: It's so unfair that I keep having to take abuse just because you can't meet your goals. Kyo: THAT CONDESCENDING ATTITUDE OF YOURS REALLY PISSES ME OFF!Yuki: And that revolting thought process of yours pisses me off.
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If I had a soul I sold itfor pretty wordsIf I had a body I usedit up spurting my essenceAllen Ginsberg warns youdont follow my pathto extinction
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See it was like this when we waltz into this place.A couple of papish cats is doing an Aztec two-stepAnd I says Dad let's cutbut then this dame comes up behind me see and says you and me could really existWow I says Only the next day she has bad teeth and really hates poetry.
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Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for yr own joy
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I'd learned myself by the age of sixteen that just as girls guarded their virginity, boys guarded something less tangible which they called Themselves.
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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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The machines are too dull when weare lion-poems that move
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Man is an artifact designed for space travel. He is not designed to remain in his present biologic state any more than a tadpole is designed to remain a tadpole.
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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 of his fellow men say. In hiseternal search for truth, thepoet is alone. He tries to be timeless in a society built on time.
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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 die, and die conclusively. How can we face such a fact, and not live in fear?
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There's nothing happy about love at all! I would rather have not known real love.. If it hurts this much.
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And then there's the sickness I feel from looking at legs I can't touch, or at lips that don't smile at me. Or hips that don't reach for me. And hearts that don't beat for me.
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All I wanted and all Neal wanted and all anybody wanted was some kind of penetration into the heart of things where, like in a womb, we could curl up and sleep the ecstatic sleep that Burroughs was experiencing with a good big mainline shot of M. And advertising executives in NY were experiencing with twelve Scotch
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