The Job Of The Writer Is To

Mr. Bibbit, You Might Warn This Mr. Harding That I'm So Crazy I Admit To Voting For Eisenhower. Bibbit! You Tell Mr. Mcmurphy I'm So Crazy I Voted For Eisenhower Twice! And You Tell Mr. Harding Right Back — He Puts Both Hands On The Table And Leans Down, His Voice Getting Low — That I'm So Crazy I Plan To Vote For Eisenhower Again This November.

But I Tried, Didn't I? Goddamnit, At Least I Did That.

I've Never Seen Crack Or A Lot Of These New Drugs. Don't Know Anything About Them. I Don't Know What They Do For You, Or Whether They Do Anything Good For You Or Not. But I Do Still Have A Lot Of Faith In The Spiritual Purity Of Lsd And Pot.

We'd Just Shared The Last Beer And Slung The Empty Can Out The Window At A Stop Sign And Were Just Waiting Back To Get The Feel Of The Day, Swimming In That Kind Of Tasty Drowsiness That Comes Over You After A Day Of Going Hard At Something You Enjoy Doing -- Half Sunburned And Half Drunk And Keeping Awake Only Because You Wanted To Savor The Taste As Long As You Could.

The Answer Is Never The Answer. What's Really Interesting Is The Mystery. If You Seek The Mystery Instead Of The Answer, You'll Always Be Seeking. I've Never Seen Anybody Really Find The Answer, But They Think They Have. So They Stop Thinking. But The Job Is To Seek Mystery, Evoke Mystery, Plant A Garden In Which Strange Plants Grow And Mysteries Bloom. The Need For Mystery Is Greater Than The Need For An Answer.