“He had no place he could stay in without getting tired of it and because there was nowhere to go but everywhere, keep rolling under the stars.”

The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved.

The fact that everybody in the world dreams every night ties all mankind together.

The only truth is music.

It’s okay, girl, we’ll make it till the sun goes down forever. And until then what you got to lose but the losing? We’re fallen angels who didn’t believe that nothing means nothing.

Suppose we suddenly wake up and see that what we thought to be this and that, ain’t this and that at all?

The closer you get to real matter, rock air fire and wood, boy, the more spiritual the world is.

The happiness consists in realizing that it is all a great strange dream.

I’m right there, swimming the river of hardships but I know how to swim.

A sociable smile is nothing but a mouth full of teeth.

Be in love with your life, every detail of it.

All I wanted to do was sneak out into the night and disappear somewhere, and go and find out what everybody was doing all over the country.

If you tell a true story, you can’t be wrong.

My life is a vast inconsequential epic.

I was surprised, as always, be how easy the act of leaving was, and how good it felt. The world was suddenly rich with possibility.

Rest and be kind, you don’t have to prove anything

I saw that my life was a vast glowing empty page and I could do anything I wanted.

I become a bit of a blank page in public. And that’s precisely why I like acting.

Nelson Mandela sat in a South African prison for 27 years. He was nonviolent. He negotiated his way out of jail. His honor and suffering of 27 years in a South African prison is really ultimately what brought about the freedom of South Africa. That is nonviolence.

When the mind rests into its silent nature, it realise that love don’t come and go. Love can’t die.

Changing your nature is the hardest thing to do. But I discovered that you can be who you choose to be.

Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures.

Where is human nature so weak as in the bookstore?

The way I understand it, the Russians are sort of a combination of evil and incompetence… sort of like the Post Office with tanks.

An argument fatal to the communist theory, is suggested by the fact, that a desire for property is one of the elements of our nature.