But our trip was different. It was a classic affirmation of everything right and true and decent in the national character. It was a gross, physical salute to the fantastic possibilities of life in this country-but only for those with true grit. And we were chock full of that.
Who said anything about slicing you up?. . . I just wanted to carve a little Z on your forehead-- nothing serious.
There was madness in any direction, at any hour. You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning.
My blood is too thick for California: I have never been able to properly explain myself in this climate.
We were somewhere around Barstow, on the edge of the desert, when the drugs began to take hold.
Like most of the others, I was a seeker, a mover, a malcontent, and at times a stupid hell-raiser.
Not everybody is comfortable with the idea that politics is a guilty addiction. But it is.
Buy the ticket, take the ride.
I'm a relatively respectable citizen. Multiple felon perhaps, but certainly not dangerous.
It's a strange world. Some people get rich and others eat sh** and die.
Myths and legends die hard in America.
He who makes a beast out of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.
I was never idle long enough to do much thinking, but I felt somehow that my instincts were right.
In a world as weird and cruel as this one we have made for ourselves, I figure anybody who can find peace and personal happiness without ripping off somebody else deserves to be left alone.
In a world of thieves, the only final sin is stupidity.
Never create anything, it will be misinterpreted, it will chain you and follow you for the rest of your life.
Still humping the American Dream
Just sick enough to be totally confident
The only thing that really worried me was the ether. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge. And I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon. Probably at the next gas station.
A man who has blown all his options can't afford the luxury of changing his ways. He has to capitalize on whatever he has left, and he can't afford to admit - no matter how often he's reminded of it - that every day of his life takes him farther and farther down a blind alley.
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