But the more I read. . . after awhile. . . I begin to find they were all … - Ken Kesey

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She gritted her teeth. She was here with Sebastian, on her way to see a powerful warlock, and mentally she was maundering on about the way Jace smelled.

Ken Kesey

But the more I read. . . after awhile. . . I begin to find they were all writing about the same thing, this same dull old here-today-gone-tomorrow scene. . . Shakespeare, Milton, Matthew Arnold, even Baudelaire, even this cat whoever he was that wrote Beowulf. . . the same scene for the same reasons and to the same end, whether it was Dante with his pit or Baudelaire with his pot. . . the same dull old scene. . .

Arnold, Cat, Gone, Pot, Shakespeare, Writing

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This world belongs to the strong, my friend! The ritual of our existence is based on the strong getting stronger by devouring the weak. We must face up to this. No more than right that it should be this way. We must learn to accept it as a law of the natural world. The rabbits accept their role in the ritual and recognize the wolf as the strong. In defense, the rabbit becomes sly and frightened and elusive and he digs holes and hides when the wolf is about. And he endures, he goes on. He knows his place. He most certainly doesn't challenge the wolf to combat. Now, would that be wise? Would it?

Based, Friend, Law, Strong, Wise, World

We'd just shared the last beer and slung the empty can out the window at a stop sign and were just waiting back to get the feel of the day, swimming in that kind of tasty drowsiness that comes over you after a day of going hard at something you enjoy doing -- half sunburned and half drunk and keeping awake only because you wanted to savor the taste as long as you could.

Back, Beer, Drowsiness, Long, Sunburned, Swimming

All that five thousand kids lived in those five thousand houses, owned by guys that got off the train. The houses looked so much alike that, time and time again, the kids went home by mistake to different houses and different families. Nobody ever noticed.

Home, Kids, Mistake, Thousand, Train

It's time to move on to the next step in the psychedelic revolution. We've reached a certain point, but we're not moving any more.

Certain, Moved On, Moving On, Next Steps, Point, Time

What the Chronics are - or most of us - are machines with flaws inside that can't be repaired, flaws born in, or flaws beat in over so many years of the guy running head-on into solid things that by the time the hospital found him he was bleeding rust in some vacant lot.

Found, Guy, Running, Solid, Things, Years