Nem lehet a múlt dolgoknak útjába állni, hogy elő ne jöjjenek.
It's gonna burn me just that way, finally telling about all this, about the hospital, and her, and the guys- and about McMurphy. I been silent so long now it's gonna roar out of me like floodwaters an...
I'd think, That ain't me, that ain't my face. It wasn't even me when I was trying to be that face. I wasn't even really me then; I was just being the way I looked, the way people wanted. It don't seem...
I still had my own notions. How McMurphy was a giant come out of the sky to save us from the combine that was networking the land with copper wire and crystal
I sighed, surrendering speech, but held on to her arm. Viv . . . ? If this was the last of it, I wanted the last look of good-by.
Hell of a life. Damned if you do and damned if you don’t. Puts a man in one confounded bind, I’d say.
He had made his trip without quite realizing it.
He Who Marches Out Of Step Hears Another Drum
God looks out for fools and niggers.
Does one ever play Coltrane for the uninitiated without subconsciously hoping for the worst?
Colonel Matterson reading from wrinkled scripture of that long yellow hand:The flag is America. America is the plum. The peach. The watermelon. America is the gumdrop. The pumpkin seed. America is tel...
You must go through a winter to understand.
You got to understand that as soon as a man goes to help someone, he leaves himself wide open.
You got to understand that as soon as a man goes to help somebody, he leaves himself wide open.
Which is just another way of blaming, and perhaps the best way, because there is solace and a certain stoical peace in blaming everything on the rain, and then blaming something as uncontrollable as t...
When a man showed up you didn't want to look at his face and he didn't want to look at yours, because it's painful to see somebody so clear that it's like looking inside him, but then neither did you...
The world news might not be therapeutic.
The most work he did on [the urinals] was to run a brush once or twice apiece, singing some song as loud as he could in time to the swishing brush; then he'd splash in some Clorox and he'd be through....
Sometimes—after futile all-nights—deserts fill my work-house and smoking sand gets in my eyes . . . and I must split the swollen cabin to check the dawn, to find: the creek still parties with the moon...
Mi-a zis ca un om care-a tacut atata amar de vreme avea pesemne multe de spus, dupa care se intinse la loc pe perna si astepta. Eu ma straduii un minut sa-i zic ceva, dar singurele lucruri care-mi ven...