Quotes from Allen Ginsberg

I don't do anything with my life except romanticise and decay with indecision

I saw the best minds of my generation who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade.

The universe is mad, slightly mad.

he threw up his hands and wrote the Universe dont exist and died to prove it

We're not our skin of grime, we're not our dread bleak dusty imageless locomotive, we're all beautiful golden sunflowers inside, we're blessed by our own seed & hairy naked accomplishment-bodies growing into mad black formal sunflowers in the sunset, spied on by our eyes under the shadow of the mad locomotive riverbank sunset Frisco hilly tincan evening sitdown vision.

The whole blear world of smoke and twisted steel around my head in a railroad car, and my mind wandering past the rust into futurity: I saw the sun go down in a carnal and primeval world, leaving darkness to cover my railroad train because the other side of the world was waiting for dawn.

I had a moment of clarity, saw the feeling in the heart of things, walked out to the garden crying.

You know me now. I'm only good at beginnings.

Allen Ginsberg to Peter Orlovsky— 1958 Tho I long for the actual sunlight contact between us I miss you like a home. Shine back honey & think of me.

Who'll come lie down in the dark with me Belly to belly and knee to knee Who'll look into my hooded eye Who'll lie down under my darkened thigh?

What came is gone forever every time

Sometime I'll lay down my wrath, As I lay my body down Between the ache of breath and breath, Golden slumber in the bone.

I have just discovered that I have no feelings, just thoughts, borrowed thoughts taken from someone I admire because he seems to have feelings.

Many seek and never see, anyone can tell them why. O they weep and O they cry and never take until they try unless they try it in their sleep and never some until they die. I ask many, they ask me. This is a great mystery.

who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism

The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is holy the hearers are holy the ecstacy is holy!

The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy! The nose is holy! The tongue and cock and hand and asshole holy! Everything is holy! everybody's holy! everywhere is holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman's an angel!

No more to say, and nothing to weep for

I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?

Happiness exists I feel it. I cried for my soul, I cried for the world's soul. The world has a beautiful soul.

I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber,poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys. I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?

What is obscenity? And to whom?

Absolutes are Coercion. Change is absolute.

I have no other possessions of value but my soul.