Pain or love or danger makes you real again...
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The Dharma Bums
Jack London's novels and ruggedly individual life seemed to embody American hopes, frustrations, and romantic longings in the turbulent first years of the twentieth century, years infused with the wonder and excitement of great technological and h
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It all ends in tears anyway.
It all ends in tears anyway.
I felt free and therefore I was free.
Let the mind beware, that though the flesh be bugged, the circumstances of existence are pretty glorious.
Finding Nirvana is like locating silence.
Happy. Just in my swim shorts, barefooted, wild-haired, in the red fire dark, singing, swigging wine, spitting, jumping, running—that's the way to live. All alone and free in the soft sands of the beach by the sigh of the sea out there, with the Ma-Wink fallopian virgin warm stars reflecting on the…
I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past child…
Down on the lake rosy reflections of celestial vapor appeared, and I said, 'God, I love you' and looked to the sky and really meant it. 'I have fallen in love with you, God. Take care of us all, one way or the other.' To the children and the innocent it's all the same.
It all ends in tears anyway.
One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.
What a horror it would have been if the world was real.
For me it was just red wine in my mouth and a pile of firewood.
Happy. Just in my swim shorts, barefooted, wild-haired, in the red fire dark, singing, swigging wine, spitting, jumping, running—that's the way to live. All alone and free in the soft sands of the beach by the sigh of the sea out there.
Because in the end, you won’t remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn. Climb that god damn mountain.
I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past child…