Quote

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?

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
Questions
Bananas
Meats
Asking
Walt
Poking
Saws
Groceries
Whitman
Among
Killed
Chops
Boys
Meat
Refrigerator
Heard
Price
Refrigerators
Lonely
Grocery
Eyeing
Angel
Pork
Childless

More quotes by Allen Ginsberg

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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.
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We are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter
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The desire to have power dissolves. The desire to dominate people for love dissolves. On the other hand, it's a relief to realize you can let go.
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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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I didn't know the names of the flowers - now my garden is gone.
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Concentrate on what you want to say to yourself and your friends. Follow your inner moonlight don't hide the madness. You say what you want to say when you don't care who's listening.
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What if someone gave a war and Nobody came?
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Sanity - a trick of agreement
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How sick i am! that thought Always comes to me with horror. Is it this strange for everybody? But such fugitive feelings have always been my metier.
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Mind is shapely, Art is shapely.
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Ordinary mind includes eternal perceptions. Notice what you notice. Observe what's vivid. Catch yourself thinking. Vividness is self-selecting. And remember the future.
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I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel absurd.
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Taxi September along Jessore Road Oxcart skeletons drag charcoal load past watery fields thru rain flood ruts Dung cakes on treetrunks, plastic-roof huts Wet processions Families walk Stunted boys big heads don't talk Look bony skulls & silent round eyes Starving black angels in human disguise.
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Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.
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Poets are Damned... but See with the Eyes of Angels.
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Thank God I am not God! Thank God I am not God!
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Tell your secrets. [In reply to the question How does one become a prophet?]
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Which way will the sunflower turn surrounded by millions of suns?
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I've got enough money to live where I want, but I don't want to move.Go out and have sexual adventures in Burma.
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