“Freedom is something that dies unless it’s used.”

In a world as weird and cruel as this one we have made for ourselves, I figure anybody who can find peace and personal happiness without ripping off somebody else deserves to be left alone.

All political power comes from the barrel of either guns, pussy, or opium pipes, and people seem to like it that way.

The mind of America is seized by a fatal dry rot – and it’s only a question of time before all that the mind controls will run amuck in a frenzy of stupid, impotent fear.

These things happen. One day you run everything, and the next day you run like a dog.

Hope rises and dreams flicker and die. Love plans for tomorrow and loneliness thinks of yesterday. Life is beautiful and living is pain.

Walk tall, kick ass, learn to speak Arabic, love music and never forget you come from a long line of truth seekers, lovers and warriors.

Some may never live, but the crazy never die.

There’s a terrible danger in voting for the lesser of two evils because the parties can set it up that way.

I knew a Buddhist once, and I’ve hated myself ever since.

It is not necessary to accept the choices handed down to you by life as you know it.

I need beaches, and blackness, and moonlit nakedness.

Anything that gets your blood racing is probably worth doing.

I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me.

Don’t judge your taco by its price.

A man who procrastinates in his choosing will inevitably have his choice made for him by circumstance.

It’s in my interest, in ours perhaps, or maybe the interests of the greater good, for me to smoke a joint, and calm down.

You love me so much, you want to put me in your pocket. And there I will die smothered.

Beginning today, treat everyone you meet as if they were going to be dead by midnight. Extend to them all the care, kindness and understanding you can muster, and do it with no thought of any reward. Your life will never be the same again.

I have spent all my life resisting the desire to end it.

April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.

She would have thought a woman would have died of shame. Instead of which, the shame died.

I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.

Death is less bitter punishment than death’s delay.

But better die than live mechanically a life that is a repetition of repetitions.