Quote

You had a choice: you could either strain and look at things that appeared in front of you in the fog, painful as it might be, or you could relax and lose yourself

Ken Kesey

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Ken Kesey
Age: 66 †
Born: 1935
Born: September 17
Died: 2001
Died: November 10
Author
Essayist
Novelist
Writer
La Junta
Colorado
Kenneth Kesey
Kenneth Elton Kesey
Ken Elton Kesey
Ken E. Kesey
O. U. Levon
Loses
Appeared
Either
Strain
Choices
Relax
Inspirational
Painful
Look
Fronts
Might
Front
Looks
Choice
Things
Lose
Fog

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Like a cartoon world, where the figures are flat and outlined in black, jerking through some kind of goofy story that might be real funny if it weren't for the cartoon figures being real guys.
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I used to think we were going to win in the '60s. Nixon went out and I thought we won.
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To Vik Lovell who told me dragons did not exist, then led me to their lairs.
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You don't plow under the corn because the seed was planted with a neighbor's shovel.
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We think we’re in the present, but we aren't. The present we know is only a movie of the past.
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People think love is an emotion. Love is good sense.
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- he's finished with that it's like an old clock that won't tell time but won't stop neither, with the hands bent out of shape and the face bare of numbers and the alarm bell rusted silent, an old worthless clock that just keeps ticking and cuckooing without meaning nothing.
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Always stay in your own movie.
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Never before did I realize that mental illness could have the aspect of power, power. Think of it: perhaps the more insane a man is, the more powerful he could become. Hitler an example. Fair makes the old brain reel, doesn't it?
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But, gee, the other nurse says, what on earth would MAKE a man want to do something like disrupt the ward for, Miss Ratched? What possible motive...?You seem to forget, MISS Flinn, that this is an institution for the insane.
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The frontiers we broke into in the '60s are still largely unexplored.
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There are going to be times when we can't wait for somebody. Now, you're either on the bus or off the bus.
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It is bad to suppress laughter. It goes back down to your hips. Man, when you lose your laugh you lose your footing.
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Then - as he was talking - a set of tail-lights going past lit up McMurphy's face, and the windshield reflected an expression that was allowed only because he figured it'd be too dark for anybody in the car to see, dreadfully tired and strained and frantic, like there wasn't enough time left for something he had to do.
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A sound of cornered-animal fear and hate and surrender and defiance . . . like the last sound the treed and shot and falling animal makes as the dogs get him, when he finally doesn't care about anything but himself and his dying.
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I been away a long time.
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The world news might not be therapeutic.
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Sometimes I looked at them and sometimes they looked at me, but rarely did we look at one another.
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Memory whispers someplace in that jumbled machinery.
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Now, you’re either on the bus or you’re off the bus.
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