A hippie is like a cockroach. So are the beatniks. So are the Chicanos. We’re all around, Judge. And judges do not pick us to serve on Grand Juries.

And the truth of the matter is that death is a mystery to me. I have no opinion on the subject.

I heard the opening bar of ‘Help’ as I headed down Polk Street. Every single time I’ve heard that tune I’ve taken it as some message from God, a warning of things to come, a perfect description of my mashed-potato character.

All around us, insurance companies with patriotic names are housed in gigantic towers of white plaster. Here prestigious law firms perform their business for rich people who live next to jaded movie stars

All through schools, jobs, and bumming, I haven’t even held the hand of a Mexican woman, excepting whores who are all the same anyhow

We were at the home base of the holy man who encouraged presidents to drop bombs on poor Cockroaches in far-off villages in Vietnam

LA VIDA NO ES LA QUE VIVIMOS.LA VIDA ES EL HONOR Y EL RECUERDO.POR ESO MAS VALE MORIRCON EL PUEBLO VIVO,Y NO VIVIRCON EL PUEBLO MUERTO.Life is not as it seems, Life is pride and personal history.Thus it is better that one die and that the people should live,rahter than one live and the people should die.~Lopitos