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We are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter
Allen Ginsberg
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Allen Ginsberg
Age: 70 †
Born: 1926
Born: June 3
Died: 1997
Died: April 5
Autobiographer
Diarist
Musician
Photographer
Playwright
Poet
Screenwriter
Teacher
Writer
Paterson
New Jersey
Irwin Allen Ginsberg
Ayālena Gīnasabārga
Alen Ginzberg
Howl
Dreadful
Writers
Great
Typewriter
Typewriters
More quotes by Allen Ginsberg
The best thing about being famous is that it makes it easier to get laid.
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Candor disarms paranoia.
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It isn't enough for your heart to break because everybody's heart is broken now.
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I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked.
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I know too much and not enough
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The closet door is open for me, where I left it, since I left it open, it has graciously stayed open.
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Democracy! Bah! When I hear that I reach for my feather boa!
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The poignancy of a photograph comes from looking back to a fleeting moment in a floating world. The transitoriness is what creates the sense of the sacred
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Marijuana is a useful catalyst for specific optical and aural aesthetic perceptions. I apprehended the structure of certain pieces of jazz and classical music in a new manner under the influence of marijuana, and these apprehensions have remained valid in years of normal consciousness.
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The apparition of an evil, sick unconscious wild city rose before me in visible semblance, and about the dead buildings in the barren air, the bodies of the soul that built the wonderland shuffled and stalked and stalked and lurched in attitudes of immemorial nightmare all around.
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America, why are your libraries full of tears?
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The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is holy the hearers are holy the ecstacy is holy!
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Let go of the spirit of the departed, and continue the celebration of your own life.
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To gain your own voice, forget about having it heard. Become a saint of your own province and your own consciousness.
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I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?
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who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism
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Subject is known by what she sees.
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My books piled up before me for my use waiting in space where I placed them, they haven't disappeared, time's left its remnants and qualities for me to use -- my words piled up, my texts, my manuscripts, my loves.
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Thank God I am not God! Thank God I am not God!
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Inside skull vast as outside skull
Allen Ginsberg
