The Grateful Dead Are Our Religion. This

To Be Just Without Being Mad (and The Madder You Get The Madder You Get), To Be Peaceful Without Being Stupid, To Be Interested Without Being Compulsive, To Be Happy Without Being Hysterical... Smoke Grass.

To Vik Lovell Who Told Me Dragons Did Not Exist, Then Led Me To Their Lairs.

You Can't Blame The President For The State Of The Country, It's Always The Poets' Fault. You Can't Expect Politicians To Come Up With A Vision, They Don't Have It In Them. Poets Have To Come Up With The Vision And They Have To Turn It On So It Sparks And Catches Hold.

Don't Say It...i've Seen Too Many Loves Sundered By Too Much Needless Honesty.

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.