So therefore I dedicate myself to myself, to my art, my sleep, my dreams, my labors, my suffrances, my loneliness, my unique madness, my endless absorption and hunger—because I cannot dedicate myself to any fellow being. — Jack Kerouac
No babe We’d never Swing together but the syncopation would be something wild ― Diane di Prima, “More or Less Love Poems #11,” Revolutionary Letters. (Last Gasp, February 28, 2007) Originally blished 1971.
I am getting so far out one day I won’t come back at all. — William S. Burroughs
There is that in love which, by the syntax of, men find women and join their bodies of their minds —which wants so to acquire a continuity, a place, a demonstration that it must be one’s own sentence. — Robert Creeley, “The Sentence,” The Collected Poems of Robert Creeley, 1945-1975 (University of Californina, 1982)a
Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape. ― William S. Burroughs
I don’t care if people hate my guts; I assume most of them do. The important question is whether they are in a position to do anything about it. ― William S. Burroughs
Love slays what we have been, That we may be what we were not. — Kenneth Rexroth, from “The Dragon and the Unicorn,” The Complete Poems of Kenneth Rexroth (Copper Canyon Press, 2004)