A problem not worth praying about is not worth worrying about.

The Apostle] Paul's prayer for the Christians at Colosse should always be on our lips: That God fill you with the knowledge of his will through all spiritual wisdom and understanding (Colossians 1:9).

But why think about that when all the golden lands ahead of you and all kinds of unforseen events wait lurking to surprise you and make you glad you're alive to see?

Things are so hard to figure out when you live from day to day in this feverish and silly world.

As we crossed the Colorado-Utah border I saw God in the sky in the form of huge gold sunburning clouds above the desert that seemed to point a finger at me and say, Pass here and go on, you're on the road to heaven.

The road must eventually lead to the whole world. Ain't nowhere else it can go - right?

I wanta swim in rivers and drink goatmilk and talk with priests and just read Chinese books and amble around the valleys talking to farmers and their children.

I fear mostly my inability to capture all the things that come, I fear their mysterious source, I fear their fate, I fear me, in short. This is true…it's like finding a river of gold when you haven't even got a cup to save a cupful…you've but a thimble, and that thimble is your pathetic brain and labour and humanness.

I've got my full rucksack pack and it's spring, I'm going to go Southwest to the dry land, to the long lone land of Texas and Chihuahua and the gay streets of Mexico night, music coming out of doors, girls, wine, weed, wild hats, viva! What does it matter? Like the ants that have nothing to do but dig all day, I have nothing to do but what I want and be kind and remain nevertheless uninfluenced by imaginary judgments and pray for the light.

I'd rather walk than ride the airplane, I can fall on the ground flat on my face and die that way.

There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars...

It was sad to see his tall figure receding in the dark as we drove away, just like the other figures in New York and New Orleans: they stand uncertainly underneath immense skies, and everything about them is drowned. Where go? what do? what for?—sleep. But this foolish gang was bending onward.