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The soul is innocent and immortal, it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse.
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
Innocent
Dies
Madhouse
Soul
Madhouses
Never
Ungodly
Armed
Immortal
Depression
Illness
More quotes by Allen Ginsberg
What if someone gave a war and Nobody came?
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The fact to which we have got to cling, as to a lifebelt, is that it is possible to be a normal decent person and yet be fully alive.
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The only thing that can save the world is the reclaiming of the awareness of the world. That's what poetry does. By poetry I mean the imagining of what has been lost and what can be found - the imagining of who we are and the slow realization of it.
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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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The suffering itself is not so bad it's the resentment against suffering that is the real pain.
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Mind is shapely, Art is shapely.
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Affection is the most important thing. And the quality of affection - with your friends, your lovers, your family. But particularly for your own generation.
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Because systems of mass communication can communicate only officially acceptable levels of reality, no one can know the extent of the secret unconscious life. No one in America can know what will happen. No one is in real control.
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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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Which way will the sunflower turn surrounded by millions of suns?
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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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I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel absurd.
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Who’ll come lie down in the dark with me Belly to belly and knee to knee Who’ll look into my hooded eye Who’ll lie down under my darkened thigh?
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I don't do anything with my life except romanticize and decay with indecision.
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Our heads are round so thought can change direction
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I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of the night.
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None of us understand what we're doing, but we do beautiful things anyway.
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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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You can't photograph everything.
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