Notes Of A Dirty Old Man Quotes

To be young is the only religion.

There is only one place to write and that is alone at a typewriter. The writer who has to go into the streets is a writer who does not know the streets. . . when you leave your typewriter you leave your machine gun and the rats come pouring through.

the soul has no skin; the soul only has insides that want to sing, finally, can't you hear it, brothers? softly, can't you hear it, brothers? a hot piece of ass and a new Cadillac ain't going to solve a god-damned thing.

Baby, in a couple of minutes I'm going to rip off your god damned panties and show you some turkey neck you'll remember all the way to the graveside. I have a vast and curved penis, like a sickle, and many a gutted pussy has gasped come upon my callous and roach-smeared rug. First let me finish this drink.

God knows I am not too hippy. Perhaps because I am too much around the hip and I fear fads for, like anybody else, I like something that tends to last.

No pain means the end of feeling; each of our joys is a bargain with the devil.

Beautiful thoughts, and beautiful women never last.

and if I have any advice to give to anybody it’s this: take up watercolor painting.

One more drink and you're dead. This is no way to talk to a suicide head.

The ass is the face of the soul of sex.

Experience can dull. With most men experience is a series of mistakes; the more experience you have the less you know.

it was going to be all right. at last. for a while.

There is only one place to write and that is alone at a typewriter. A writer who has to go into the streets is a writer who does not know the streets.

First of all read Céline; the greatest writer of 2,000 years

Listen, friend, he said, this whole game is just one big deck of cards. if you want to get into the game you have to take whatever comes up in the shuffle.

I find that when the pain gets bad enough there are only three things to do — get drunk, kill yourself or laugh. I usually get drunk and laugh.

Nothing against the law ever cease to exist.

Once in a rare lifetime have you ever been in a roomful of people who only helped you when you looked at them, listened to them. this was one of those magic times. I knew it.

I make her leave on her stockings and high heels. I am a freak. I cannot bear the human being in present state, I must be fooled. the psychiatrists must have a word for it, and I have a word for the psychiatrists.

it seems a shame to have to sneak to get to the truth.To make the truth such a dirty old nasty thing.You gotta sneak to get to the truth, the truth is condemned.The truth is in the gas chamber.The truth has been in your stockyards.Your slaughterhouses.The truth has been in your reservations, building your railroads, emtying your garbage.The truth is in your ghettos.In your jails.In your young love,not in your courts or congress where the old set judgement on the young.What the hell do the old know about the young?They put a picture of old George on the dollar and tell you that he's your father, worship him.Look at the madness that goes on, you can't prove anything that happened yesterday.Now is the only thing that's real.Everyday, every reality is a new reality.Every new reality is a new horizon,a brand new experience of living.I got a note last night from a friend of mine.He writes in this note that he's afraid of what he might have to do in order to save his reality, as i save mine.You can't prove anything.There's nothing to prove.Every man judges himself.He knows what he is. You know what you are, as i know what i am,we all know what we are.Nobody can stand in judgement, they can play like they're standing in judgement.They can play like they stand in judgement and take you off and control the masses, with your human body.They can lock you up in penitentiaries and cages and put you in crosses like they did in the past,but it doesn't amount to anything. What they're doing is, they're only persecuting a reflection of themselves. They're persecuting what they can't stand to look at in themselves,the truth.

New Year’s Eve is like any other eve to me: I drink.

I’ve seen too many intellectuals lately. I get very tired of the precious intellects who must speak diamonds every time they open their mouths. I get tired of battling for each space of air for the mind. That’s why I stayed away from people for so long, and now that I am meeting people, I find that I must return to my cave.

I talked to Miriam. She says you paint and write, you're an artist" "at rare times I'm an artist; at most other times I'm nothing

That was love, that was bravery. Shit, who could really stand me? anyone who could stand me had a lot of forgiveness of soul.

every man believes that he can tame a nymph but it only leads to the grave — for the man.

an intellectual is a man who says a simple thing in a difficult way; an artist is a man who says a difficult thing in a simple way.

it was a beauty fire, it contained soul, the sides of sunshine mountains, hot streams of smiling fish, warm stockings smelling a bit like toast. I held my hand over the little flame. I had beautiful hands. that one thing I had. I had beautiful hands.

(by the way . . . I realize I switch from present to past tense, and if you don't like it . . . ram a nipple up your scrotum. -printer: leave this in.)

Když chce někdo zabít Boha, znamená to, že ho chci zabít i já?

did she love you? only as an extension of herself. what else can love be? the common sense to care very much for something very good. it needn't be related by bloodline. it can be a red beachball or a piece of buttered toast.

The best people are the ones you never meet.

every man is afraid of being queer. I get a little tired of it. maybe we should all become queers and relax.

I’d rather hear about a live American bum than a dead Greek God.

Only the strong can live alone, the strong and the selfish.

A whore is a woman who takes more than she gives. A man who takes more than he gives is called a businessman.

TIME WOUNDS ALL HEELS.

if you want to know who your friends are, get yourself a jail sentence

cities are built to kill people,

Beynime bir soluk hava çekebilmek için savaşmaktan bıktım. Yıllarca insanlardan kaçmamın nedeni bu, ve onlarla görüşmeye başladığımdan beri inime dönme zamanının geldiğini hissediyorum.

is it possible to love a human being? of course, especially if you don’t know them too well. I like to watch them through my window, walking down the street. Stirkoff, you’re a coward. of course, sir. what is your definition of a coward? a man who would think twice before fighting a lion with his bare hands. and what is your definition of a brave man? a man who doesn’t know what a lion is. every man knows what a lion is. every man assumes that he does. and what is your definition of a fool? a man who doesn’t realize that Time, Structure and Flesh are being mostly wasted. who then is a wise man? there aren’t any wise men, sir. then there can’t be any fools. if there isn’t any night there can’t be any day; if there isn’t any white there can’t be any black. I’m sorry, sir. I thought that everything was what it was, not depending on something else

you say you often feel this madness. what do you do when it comes upon you? I write poetry. is poetry madness? non-poetry is madness. what is madness? madness is ugliness. what is ugly? to each man, something different.

He, and all of us, are the victims of an attitude that has been growing in our land for nearly a decade - an attitude that says a man can choose the laws he must obey, that he can take the law into his own hands for a cause, that crime does not necessarily mean punishment.

I get very tired of the precious intellects who must speak diamonds every time they open their mouths. I get tired of battling for each space of air for the mind. that’s why I stayed away from people for so long, and now that I am meeting people, I find that I must return to my cave. there are other things beside the mind: there are insects and palm trees and pepper shakers, and I’ll have a pepper-shaker in my cave, so laugh.

rewolucja - to brzmi bardzo romantycznie, ale takim nie jest. rewolucja to krew, flaki i obłęd; to małe dzieci, które zabito, bo akurat wlazły pod nogi; małe dzieci, które nie są w stanie zrozumieć, co się tu, do kurwy nędzy, dzieje; to twoja dziwka, to twoja żona, której bagnetem rozpruto brzuch, a potem zgwałcono w dupę na twych oczach; to ludzie, którzy kiedyś śmiali się na filmach z Myszką Miki, a teraz torturują swych pobratymców, zanim się więc na to zdecydujesz, to wcześniej zastanów się, dokąd może zaprowadzić uniesienie i co z niego zostanie, gdy już będzie po wszystkim

so we went up the hill. then we got into my room and I looked at them both. my pure and beautiful slim and magic little girl glorious fuck with the hair dangling down to the asshole, and next to her the tragedy of the ages: slime and horror, the machine gone wrong, frogs tortured by little boys and head-on car collisions and the spider taking in the ball-less buzzing fly and the landscape brain of Primo Carnera going down under the dull playboy guns of cocksure Maxie Baer — new heavyweight champ of America — I, I rushed at the Tragedy of the Ages — that fat slob of accumulated shit.

Nothing that is against the law ever ceases to exist.

knowledge without follow-through is worse than no knowledge at all.

I think of two friens who advise me on various methods of suicide. what better proof of loving camaraderie?

A woman always wants to find the core, tame it, mold it; a wise man never shows the core to a woman. He just gives her a shot of light, shuts it off, becomes himself again.

When you marry the woman you also marry her entire family.

WHEN YOU LEAVE YOUR TYPEWRITER YOU LEAVE YOUR MACHINE GUN AND THE RATS COME POURING THROUGH.

It was going to be alright. At last. For a while.

that’s what friendship means: sharing the prejudice of experience.

fun and danger hardly put margarine on the toast or fed the cat. You give up toast and end up eating the cat.

the people will always betray you. never trust the people.

Neal would just go on driving, neither grim or happy or sardonic, just there - doing the movements. I understood. it was necessary. it was his bull ring, his racetrack. it was holy and necessary

It wasn’t ENOUGH that I was working beside him like an idiot; it wasn’t enough for him that I was wasting the few good hours left in my life—no, he also wanted me to share his own mind-soul, to sniff his dirty stockings, to chew on his angers and hates with him. I was not PAID for that, the fucker. And that’s what killed you on the job—not the actual physical work but being closed in with the dead. I

I found trouble, but the rest of what I was looking for, I haven’t found that yet. maybe we find it when we die. maybe we don’t. you’ve got your books of philosophy, your priest, your preacher, your scientist, so don’t ask me.

So many people are doomed by their ambition and their gathered intelligence, their bank account and savings and loan intelligence. If there is any secret to life, that secret is not to try. Let it come to you: women, dogs, death, and creation.

When I came out of the Charity Ward of the L.A. County General Hospital in 1955 after drinking ten years without missing a night or day (except while in jail) they told me that if I ever took another drink I would be dead. I went back to my shack job and I asked her, “What the hell am I going to do now?” “We’ll play the horses,” she said. “Horses?” “Yeah, they run and you bet on them.” She had found some money on the boulevard so we went out. I had 3 winners, one of them paid over 50 bucks. It seemed very easy. We went out a second time and I won again. That night I decided that if I mixed some wine with milk it might not hurt me. I tried a glass, half wine, half milk. I didn’t die. The next glass I tried a little less milk and a little more wine. By the time the night was over I had been drinking straight wine. In the morning I got up without hemorrhaging. After that I drank and played the horses. 27 years later I am still doing both. Time is made to be wasted...

What’ll I do?” I asked my woman. “You just shit in the bushes.” It was a more crowded camp, one of those roadside machinations, tourists abounding, so I had to put on my clothing. I wasn’t entirely sober. I walked along and looked at the bushes. I selected some. I got out of my bluejeans, hung them on a bush but before I could squat the beershit began; waterfalls began rolling down my legs—wetwash of stinking beer mildewed with improperly chewed and improperly digested food. I grabbed at a bush and squatted, pissed on my feet, and eliminated a few very soft turds. My pants fell off the bush and onto the ground. I leaped up, worried about my wallet. And, of course, it had fallen out of my pants. I staggered about the brush looking for it and managed to step right into my excretia, me who had stolen the land from the Indians.

the reason the average person is at the track is that they are driven screwy by the turn of the bolt, the foreman’s insane face, the landlord’s hand, the lover’s dead sex; taxation, cancer, the blues; clothes that fall apart on a 3rd wearing, water that tastes like piss, doctors that run assembly-line and indecent offices, hospitals without heart, politicians with skulls filled with pus … we can go on and on but would only be accused of being bitter and demented, but the world makes madmen (and women) of us all, and even the saints are demented, nothing is saved. so shit. well. according to my figures I’ve only had 2500 pieces of ass but I’ve watched 12,500 horse races, and if I have any advice to anybody it’s this: take up watercolor painting.

then I saw a church. I didn't particularly like churches, especially when they were filled with people. but I didn't fugure it to be that way at 9 p.m. I walked up the steps. hey hey, woman, come see what's left of your man. I could sit there a while and breath in the stink, maybe make something out of God, maybe give him a chance. I pulled at the door. the motherfucker was locked.

then I saw a church. I didn't particularly like churches, especially when they were filled with people. but I didn't figure it out to be that way at 9 p.m. I walked up the steps. hey hey, woman, come see what's left of your man. I could sit there a while and breath in the stink, maybe make something out of God, maybe give him a chance. I pulled at the door. the motherfucker was locked.

When Love becomes a command, Hatred can become a pleasure. *  *  * if you don’t gamble, you’ll never win *  *  * Beautiful thoughts, and beautiful women never last *  *  * you can cage a tiger but you’re never sure he’s broken. Men are easier *  *  * if you want to know where God is, ask a drunk. *  *  * there aren’t any angels in the foxholes *  *  * no pain means the end of feeling; each of our joys is a bargain with the devil. *  *  * the difference between Art and Life is that Art is more bearable *  *  * I’d rather hear about a live American bum than a dead Greek God. *  *  * there is nothing as boring as the truth *  *  * The well balanced individual is insane *  *  * Almost everybody is born a genius and buried an idiot *  *  * a brave man lacks imagination. Cowardice is usually caused by lack of proper diet. *  *  * sexual intercourse is kicking death in the ass while singing *  *  * when men rule governments, men won’t need governments; until then we are screwed *  *  * an intellectual is a man who says a simple thing in a difficult way; an artist is a man who says a difficult thing in a simple way. *  *  * everytime I go to a funeral I feel as if I had eaten puffed wheat germ *  *  * dripping faucets, farts of passion, flat tires — are all sadder than death. *  *  * if you want to know who your friends are, get yourself a jail sentence

Silence, silence. Then he switched his stool, turned his back to me as much as possible and continued working. I got up and walked to the men’s crapper and stuck my head out the window for fresh air. The guy was my father all over again: RESPONSIBILITY, SOCIETY, COUNTRY, DUTY, MATURITY, all the dull-sounding hard words. But why were they in such agony? Why did they hate so much? It seemed simply that they were very much afraid that somebody else was having a damn good time or was not unhappy most of the time. It seemed that they wanted everybody to carry the same damn heavy rock they were carrying. It wasn’t ENOUGH that I was working beside him like an idiot; it wasn’t enough for him that I was wasting the few good hours left in my life—no, he also wanted me to share his own mind-soul, to sniff his dirty stockings, to chew on his angers and hates with him. I was not PAID for that, the fucker. And that’s what killed you on the job—not the actual physical work but being closed in with the dead.

e então fomos pra cama e valeu... a PRIMEIRA vez. ela tinha me dito que era ninfo mas eu não acreditara. depois do terceiro ou quarto round comecei a acreditar. percebi que estava com problemas. todo homem acredita que pode domar uma ninfo mas isso só tem como resultado a sepultura – a do homem.

tenho vergonha de ser um membro da raça humana mas não quero acrescentar nem mais um pingo que seja a essa vergonha.

For Christ’s sake, if they legalized pot half the people would stop smoking it. Prohibition created more drunks than grandmother’s wart. It’s only when you can’t do that you want to do.

Here in America a man ain’t a man unless he’s got three or four whores and a late model car. All right, I’m a little drunk. Maybe that’s why I mock myself. But put a new car and 3 women on my back and I’m fucked. I don’t have a t.v. I don’t even have a radio. A big Brazilian cunt who wants to put that thing on me, calls me the last of the monsters.

When the agony of all the people is heard, nothing will be done.

I have a special ring-system that must work before I will pick up my phone. I am not a snob: it is simply that I am not interested with what most people have to say, or what they want to do-mostly with my time.

Are you for LSD?” “I don’t use it.” “Don’t you think it’s a passing fad?” “Nothing that is against the law ever ceases to exist.” “Whatcha mean?” “Forget it.” “Whatcha think of the hippies?” “They don’t harm me.” “Their hair stinks,” he said. “They don’t take baths. They don’t work.” “I don’t like to work either.” “Anything

whatya wanna hear on the juke?” I asked. “anything. anything you like.” I loaded the thing. I didn’t know who I was but I could load a juke box.

When I die they can take my work and wipe a cat’s ass with it. It will be of no earthly use to me.

When you’ve considered everything, you’ve considered too much.

From the cubicle of the job to the cubicle of resting and waiting to return to the job. The job is the center. The job is the sun. The job is the mother’s breast. To be jobless is the sin; to be lifeless doesn’t matter.

Devrim sözcüğü kulağınıza hoş geliyor, değil mi? ama hiç öyle değildir, inanın bana. devrimin ne olduğunu bilmek ister misiniz? kan, bağırsak ve delilik. yolunuza çıktığı için ölen çocuklar, dünyadan habersiz yavrular. yanınızdaki kaltağın, hatta karınızın gözünüzün önünde kasaturalanıp ırzına geçilmesidir. bir zamanlar miki fare filmlerine gülen erkeklerin birbirine işkence etmeleridir. böyle bir eyleme geçmeden önce eylemin ruhunun nerede olduğunu ve eylem bittiğinde nerede olacağını çok iyi düşünmek gerek. Dostoyevski'nin Suç ve Ceza'sına katılmıyorum, koşullar ne olursa olsun kimseyi öldürme meselesi. ama iyi düşünmek gerek. işin delirtici yanı tek bir mermi bile sıkmadan canlarımızı alıyor olmaları. para babalarının şişko oğulları Beverly Hills'de on dört yaşında kızların ırzlarına geçerken ben bir yerlerde asgari ücretle belimi kırıyordum. helada beş dakika fazla kaldığı için işten kovulan adamlar biliyorum. anlatmak istemediğim çok şey gördüm. ama bir şeyi öldürmeden önce yerine daha iyisini koyabileceğinden emin olmalısın. parklarda nefret palavraları sıkan siyasi fırsatçılardan daha iyi bir şeyler olmalı elinizde. bir şeyin bedelini ödemek canınıza okuyacaksa otuz altı aylık garantiden fazlasını arayın. devrime duyulan romantik özlemin dışında bir şey göremedim henüz. ne gerçek bir lider ne de şimdiye kadar her devrim sonrası gelen ihanetin önüne geçebilecek bir platform. şayet birini yok edeceksem o adamın yerine karbon kopyasının gelmesini istemem. tarihi bar helasında barbut oynayan ayyaşlar gibi harcadık. insan ırkından utanç duyuyorum, ama bu utanca katkıda bulunmanın da bir anlamı yok. elimden gelirse utancı azaltmak isterim.

Saçmalık, yaşamak, beklemek, aramak.Düşünmekten beynim ağrıyordu. Bir kere aşık olmuştum, ilk gençlik rüyalarımı görmeye başladığım yıllarda. Irene bizim yanımızdaki evde yaşardı.Onun yanında kalbim zonklardı. Sonra en yakın arkadaşımla kırlara gittiler.O gün vazgeçtim sevmekten.

a man can go 70 years without a piece of ass but he can die in a week without a bowel movement.

If there was any politician in America who reflected the Cold War and what it did to the country, it was Richard Nixon—the man and the era were made for each other. The anger and resentment that were a critical part of his temperament were not unlike the tensions running through the nation as its new anxieties grew. He himself seized on the anti-Communist issue earlier and more tenaciously than any other centrist politician in the country. In fact that was why he had been put on the ticket in the first place. His first congressional race in 1946, against a pleasant liberal incumbent named Jerry Voorhis, was marked by red-baiting so savage that it took Voorhis completely by surprise. Upon getting elected, Nixon wasted no time in asking for membership in the House Un-American Activities Committee. He was the committee member who first spotted the contradictions in Hiss’s seemingly impeccable case; in later years he was inclined to think of the case as one of his greatest victories, in which he had challenged and defeated a man who was not what he seemed, and represented the hated Eastern establishment. His career, though, was riddled with contradictions. Like many of his conservative colleagues, he had few reservations about implying that some fellow Americans, including perhaps the highest officials in the opposition party, were loyal to a hostile foreign power and willing to betray their fellow citizens. Yet by the end of his career, he became the man who opened the door to normalized relations with China (perhaps, thought some critics, he was the only politician in America who could do that without being attacked by Richard Nixon), and he was a pal of both the Soviet and Chinese Communist leadership. If he later surprised many long-standing critics with his trips to Moscow and Peking, he had shown his genuine diplomatic skills much earlier in the way he balanced the demands of the warring factions within his own party. He never asked to be well liked or popular; he asked only to be accepted. There were many Republicans who hated him, particularly in California. Earl Warren feuded with him for years. Even Bill Knowland, the state’s senior senator and an old-fashioned reactionary, despised him. At the 1952 convention, Knowland had remained loyal to Warren despite Nixon’s attempts to help Eisenhower in the California delegation. When Knowland was asked to give a nominating speech for Nixon, he was not pleased: “I have to nominate the dirty son of a bitch,” he told friends. Nixon bridged the gap because his politics were never about ideology: They were the politics of self. Never popular with either wing, he managed to negotiate a delicate position acceptable to both. He did not bring warmth or friendship to the task; when he made attempts at these, he was, more often than not, stilted and artificial. Instead, he offered a stark choice: If you don’t like me, find someone who is closer to your position and who is also likely to win. If he tilted to either side, it was because that side seemed a little stronger at the moment or seemed to present a more formidable candidate with whom he had to deal. A classic example of this came early in 1960, when he told Barry Goldwater, the conservative Republican leader, that he would advocate a right-to-work plank at the convention; a few weeks later in a secret meeting with Nelson Rockefeller, the liberal Republican leader—then a more formidable national figure than Goldwater—Nixon not only reversed himself but agreed to call for its repeal under the Taft-Hartley act. “The man,” Goldwater noted of Nixon in his personal journal at the time, “is a two-fisted four-square liar.

Mindig is jobban éreztem magam egyedül. Amikor az ember egyedül van, az egyetlen problémája önmaga. Jobb úgy. Mert elkerül a baj. Én rendes ember vagyok. Ezt tudtam magamról.