Friends Dottie West, June Carter Cash and Loretta Lynn recalled Cline telling them during 1963 that she felt a sense of impending doom and did not intend to live much longer.
I think you five-0.
UNCLE ACID. Basic Concepts in Brainwashing.
Man is not at home in the universe, despite all the efforts of philosophers and metaphysicians to provide a soothing syrup. Thought is still a narcotic. The deepest question is why. And it is a forbidden one. The very asking is in the nature of cosmic sabotage. And the penalty is- the afflictions of Job.
Why do I sense hostility on your part? She asks softly, then sips her wine.
Maybe because I'm hostile! He spits out.
You are being a lunatic. She says, shaking her head, now looking over the wine list.
Goddammit. What do you mean, being? I say. I fucking am one.
Never once had they opened the door which leads to the soul; never once did they dream of taking a blind leap into the dark. After dinner the dishes were promptly washed and put in the closet; after the paper was read it was neatly folded and laid on a shelf; after the clothes were washed they were ironed and folded and then tucked away in the drawers. Everything was for tomorrow, but tomorrow never came. The present was only a bridge and on this bridge they are still groaning, as the world groans, and not one idiot ever thinks of blowing up the bridge.
Most of what my neighbors call good, I am profoundly convinced is evil.
It took me quite a while to realize that the real deal is to be able to be enough of a person on your own to know when somebody loves you and cares about you. -SRV
Fucking quotable. Hence all of this. Boob.
Run. With. The. Pack.
...because they were more fun than Adam.
Too many people. They're asking questions, they're at every show. They're right in front of me, and right below. Too many fucking people.
Combating the 'system' is nonsense. There is only one aim in life and that is to live it. In America it has become impossible, except for a few lucky or wise people, to live one's own life; consequently the poets and the artists tend to move to the fringes of society. We lead the lives of prisoners while we boast about free speech, free press, and free religion, none of which we actually do enjoy in full.
I recall distinctly how I enjoyed my suffering. It was like taking a cub to bed with you. Once in a while he clawed you- and then you really were frightened. Ordinarily you had no fear- you could always turn him loose, or chop his head off.
There are people who cannot resist the desire to get into a cage with wild beasts and be mangled. They go in even without revolver or whip. Fear makes them fearless.
People are like lice- they get under your skin and bury themselves there. You scratch and scratch until the blood comes, but you can't get permanently deloused. Everywhere I go people are making a mess of their lives. Everyone has his private tragedy. It's in the blood now- misfortune, ennui, grief, suicide. The atmosphere is saturated with disaster, frustration, futility. Scratch and scratch- until there's no skin left...I want the whole world to be out of whack, I want everyone to scratch himself to death.
