Quotes from Patti Smith

We didn't have to talk then, and that is real friendship. Never uncomfortable with silence, which, in its welcome form, is yet an extension of conversation.

I got some coffee and stood looking at the sky.

The only thing you can count on is change.

Hey, sister. What's your situation?" "On earth or in the universe?" p.27

The heavy scent of perfume and the red slashes of lipstick, so strong in the fifties, revolted me. For a time I resented her. She was the messenger and also the message

I felt a heat containing the colors of autumn. The dark stone in my heart pulsed quietly, igniting like a coal in a hearth. Who is in my heart? I wondered.

Half-empty paper coffee cups. Half-eaten deli sandwiches. An encrusted soup bowl. Here is joy and neglect. A little mescal. A little jacking off, but mostly just work. —This is how I live, I am thinking.

I wasn't worried, though. I just needed a break and I wasn't going to give up.

The goodwill that surrounded us was proof that the Fates were conspiring to help their enthusiastic children.

We made quite a crew, all talking at once, contradicting and sparring, a cacophony of affectionate arguing.

Beneath the feet of Christ was a skull embellished with the words memento mori. "It means 'Remember we are mortal,' " said Gregory, "but poetry is not." I just nodded. (p. 155)

And the eye became a body, the murky heart of a rose. The sinister shadow of an orchid. Or the indolent poppy balanced behind the ear of Baudelaire.

How quickly it had charmed me. I imagined it transformed. A place to think, make spaghetti, brew coffee, a place to write.

I have always hated loose ends... If I read a book or see a film and some seemingly insignificant thing is left unresolved, I can get remarkably unsettled, going back and forth and looking for clues or wishing I had a number to call or that I could write someone a letter. Not to complain, but just to request clarification or to answer a few questions, so I can concentrate on other things.

The compass was old and rusted but it still worked, connecting the earth and stars. It told me where I was standing and which way was west but not where I was going and nothing of my worth.

No moon or stars, real or imagined.

Ahh, the salvation of souls, But wisdom we had not For these people had neither King nor Lord And bowed to no one And they had lived in their own liberty - Amerigo

I should get out of here, I am thinking, out of the city. But where would I go that I would not drag my seemingly incurable lethargy along with me,

I liked the immediacy, the transmutation of energy. I liked the task of drawing from oneself. One's ancestors. One's God. To be a human saxophone. 'Birdland' is an example of how a lyric is composed in the studio. It is the result of the trust built between musicians, requiring communal selflessness in order to draw from the collective intelligence.

From very early on in my childhood - four, five years old - I felt alien to the human race. I felt very comfortable with thinking I was from another planet, because I felt disconnected - I was very tall and skinny, and I didn't look like anybody else, I didn't even look like any member of my family.

There was no time real or otherwise at the Arcade and we could sit for hours with a handful of stragglers, spinning words or content within commiserating silence.

A particular joy of good weather. an amiable lightness I easily succumb to.

What I really like is an intelligent review. It doesn't have to be positive. A review that has some kind of insight, and sometimes people say something that's startling or is so poignant.

It was then that I experienced the weight of sin, even a sin as small as a skater pin. I reflected on the fact that no matter how good I aspired to be, I was never going to achieve perfection.