My mother, who hates thunderstorms, Holds up each summer day and shakes It out suspiciously, lest swarms Of grape-dark clouds are lurking there.

Deprivation is for me what daffodils were for Wordsworth.

I have no enemies. But my friends don't like me.

How little our careers express what lies in us, and yet how much time they take up. It's sad, really.

I have a sense of melancholy isolation, life rapidly vanishing, all the usual things. It's very strange how often strong feelings don't seem to carry any message of action

I feel the only thing you can do about life is to preserve it, by art if you're an artist, by children if you're not.

As a child, I thought I hated everybody, but when I grew up I realized it was just children I didn't like.

What will survive of us is love.

Sexual intercourse began in 1963 ... / Between the end of the Chatterley ban/ and the Beatles first LP

Things are tougher than we are, just As earth will always respond However we mess it about.

Man hands on misery to man. It deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can, And don't have any kids yourself.

For the music to be over so soon. For the music to be over when it had just begun. That was really sad.

Clouds of confusionrolled into illusionHe veils perversionforcing her coercionHer body he takeswhile she flies awayunbelievable, she's invisible

An excessive knowledge of Marxism is a sign of a misspent youth.

I wake up every morning thinking...this is my last day. And I jam everything into it. There's no time for mediocrity. This is no damned dress rehearsal.

The worst elements in Mexico are being pushed into the United States by the Mexican government. The Border Patrol knows this. Likewise, tremendous infectious disease is pouring across the border.

Actions from youth, advice from the middle-aged, prayers from the aged.

Even if you do succeed most people wouldn't notice anyway.

It takes a real man to wear silk! There aren't a lot of manly men in rock and roll because it's all about cross-dressing to a degree. You have to be kind of sensitive to be in rock and roll.

Two-thirds of a century after [The Road to Serfdom] got written, hindsight confirms how inaccurate its innuendo about the future turned out to be.

The only thing I fear on a golf course is lightning...and Ben Hogan.