“The program for this evening is not new. You’ve seen this entertainment through and through.”

That’s not saying that people shouldn’t keep trying to rebel against the facts of existence.

People fear death even more than pain. It’s strange that they fear death. Life hurts a lot more than death. At the point of death, the pain is over. Yeah, I guess it is a friend.

The world becomes an apparently infinite, yet possibly finite, card game. Image combinations, permutations, comprise the world game.

Someday, who knows, we might conquer death, disease and war.

We don’t plan theatrics. We hardly ever know which set we’ll play.

There’s the know. And there’s the unknown. And what separates the two is the door, and that’s what i wanta be. Ahh wanna be th’ dooooooooorrr.

We’re reaching for death on the end of a candle We’re trying for something that’s already found us

Why does my mind circle around you? Why do planets wonder what it would be like to be you?

All your soft wild promises were words, birds, endlessly in flight.

Sometimes we worked out in Venice, looking at the surf. We were together a lot and it was good times for all of us. Acid, sun, friends, the ocean, and poetry and music.

There’s nothing wrong with being a large mammal.

When you make your peace with authority, you become authority.

Is everybody in?… Is everybody in?… Is everybody in? The ceremony is about to begin…

The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask.

I like people who shake other people up and make them feel uncomfortable.

I am interested in anything about revolt, disorder, chaos, especially activity that seems to have no meaning.

Being human, she suffered from this lack and did what she could to make up for it. If she passed the evening bent over a table in the library and later declared that she had spent that time playing cards, it was as though she had managed to do both those things.

There are three reasons for becoming a writer: the first is that you need the money; the second that you have something to say that you think the world should know; the third is that you can’t think what to do with the long winter evenings.

Each morning sees some task begun, each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, has earned a night’s repose.

He was a staffer at Punch but in the evening he wrote columns for the Evening Standard and The Times.

The evening sings in a voice of amber, the dawn is surely coming.

Sitting in the morning sun, I’ll be sitting when the evening comes.

I’ve seen it all through the yellow windows of the evening train.

Sunday-evening tea before the fire! I have never missed one moment of beauty, not even taken it for granted.