Untitled

“That’s the trouble with living things. Don’t last very long. Kittens one day, old cats the next. And then just memories. And the memories fade and blend and smudge together...”

“This love will undo us all.”

“We can spend our lives letting the world tell us who we are. Sane or insane. Saints or sex addicts. Heros or victims. Letting history tell us how good or bad we are. Letting our past decide our future. Or we can decide for ourselves. And maybe it’s our job to invent something better.”

"It was the last time she'd see the river from that window. The last time of anything has the poignancy of death itself. This that I see now, she thought, to see no more this way. Oh, the last time how clearly you see everything; as though a magnifying light had been turned on it. And you grieve because you hadn't held it tighter when you had it every day."

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.

There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars.

So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight.

"You strut in the streets/ And roll your eyes and go barefoot and take abuse and walk in pride"

"You lost your innocence when you grew up, all right, everyone knew that, but did you have to lose your hope, as well?"

In the convent, y'all, I tend the gardens, watch things grow, pray for the immortal soul of rock 'n' roll.

"We were alone and mixing up our souls ever more and ever more till it would be terribly hard to say good-by."

"What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing?-- it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-by. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies."

"Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life."

"Beyond the glittering street was darkness, and beyond the darkness the West. I had to go."

When it comes to the past, everyone writes fiction.

When you're twenty-one, life is a roadmap. It's only when you get to be twenty-five or so that you begin to suspect you've been looking at the map upside down, and not until you're forty are you entirely sure. By the time you're sixty, take it from me, you're fucking lost.