Quote

No rest without love, no sleep without dreams of love- be mad or chill obsessed with angels or machines, the final wish is love -cannot be bitter, cannot deny, cannot withhold if denied: the weight is too heavy

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
Wish
Deny
Chill
Cannot
Machines
Denied
Dream
Heavy
Angels
Without
Angel
Final
Love
Weight
Mad
Dreams
Finals
Rest
Obsessed
Sleep
Bitter
Withhold

More quotes by Allen Ginsberg

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Democracy! Bah! When I hear that I reach for my feather boa!
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Sanity - a trick of agreement
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Ultimately Warhol's private moral reference was to the supreme kitsch of the Catholic church.
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Poetry is the one place where people can speak their original human mind. It is the outlet for people to say in public what is known in private.
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Fortunately art is a community effort - a small but select community living in a spiritualized world endeavoring to interpret the wars and the solitudes of the flesh.
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You say what you want to say when you don't care who's listening. If you're grasping to get your own voice, you're making a strained attempt to talk, so it's a matter of just listening to yourself as you sound when you're talking about something that's intensely important to you.
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I'm an old man now, and a lonesome man in Kansas / but not afraid / to speak my lonesomeness in a car, / because not only my lonesomeness / it's Ours, all over America, / O tender fellows --/ & spoken lonesomeness is Prophecy / in the moon 100 years ago or in / the middle of Kansas now.
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Last Exit to Brooklyn should explode like a rusty hellish bombshell over America and still be eagerly read in a hundred years.
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I didn't know the names of the flowers - now my garden is gone.
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My own experience is that a certain kind of genius among students is best brought out in bed.
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The whole blear world of smoke and twisted steel around my head in a railroad car, and my mind wandering past the rust into futurity: I saw the sun go down in a carnal and primeval world, leaving darkness to cover my railroad train because the other side of the world was waiting for dawn.
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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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The first person who really showed me the ugly spirit was Brion Gysin. The ugly spirit shot Joan because . . . and I never found out why. This Brion wrote out on a piece of paper in a sort of trance state.
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A naked lunch is natural to us We eat reality sandwiches. But allegories are so much lettuce. Don't hide the madness.
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What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you, Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the watermelons?
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First thoughts are the strongest.
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The censorship of language is the censorship of consciousness.
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If I had a soul I sold it for pretty words If I had a body I used it up spurting my essence Allen Ginsberg warns you dont follow my path to extinction
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who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism
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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.
Allen Ginsberg