“Some of the worst mistakes of my life have been haircuts.”

That’s what real love amounts to – letting a person be what he really is.

I think that phrase is the most horrible phrase in the English language – ‘I don’t know.’ It’s terribly embarrassing.

Twentieth-century culture’s disease is the inability to feel their reality.

They grow attached to their masks. They love their chains. They forget all about who they really are.

Give form to the passing World. Freeways are a drama.

A person has to be willing to give up everything—not just wealth. All the bullshit he’s been taught—all society’s brainwashing.

All the poems have wolves in them. All but one. The most beautiful one of all. She dances in a ring of fire and throws off the challenge with a shrug.

I’m kind of hooked to the game of art and literature; my heroes are artists and writers.

How can I set free anyone who doesn’t have the guts to stand up alone and declare his own freedom?

We felt comfortable in our skins, enjoyed the news that our senses released to us, admired our dirt, cultivated our scars, and could not comprehend this unworthiness.

There are subtle ways to punish a person for daring to feel. You see that everyone around you has destroyed his true feeling nature. You imitate what you see.

The only solution is to confront them – confront yourself – with the greatest fear imaginable.

A man searching for paradise lost can seem a fool to those who never sought the other world.

All our songs are about love, travel and death.

Love cannot save you from your own fate.

Rather than starting inside, I start outside and reach the mental through the physical.

I would pale in comparison to rock and rollers with my haircut. I would be a lightweight.

I hate getting haircuts. It’s like going to the damn dentist, man.

You’re only as good as your last haircut.