Author of quotes: Ken Kesey. Page 1

Now I know that person needs to be able to get along with other people... before to live with myself.

Man needs to realize the opportunity of choosing to settle for the choice made.

In my opinion, a broken ridge - not the best proof of its presence.

McMurphy wasn't like us. He his mind was not allowed to dispose of his life, still as the Mill is not allowed to reshape itself to their manners.

Sow the wind - reap the whirlwind.

May be... May be! Maybe emptiness is not a lost grave, a casket is not granted?

We all, each and every one of us, my boy. the prisoners of their being.

Who seeks revenge, digs two graves.

She sat bolt upright, tightly wrapped at the bend of, stretching out a short round legs in stockings, the color is like sausage skins, and Billy lay down, put her head on her knees, and she began to tickle his ear with a dandelion.
Billy talked about what we need to find a wife and go somewhere to College.
The mother tickled him and laughed at these stupid things.
"Honey, you have more time, you have your whole life ahead of you."
- "Mom, I t-t-thirty-one years!"
She laughed and turned in his ear with a blade of grass.
"Honey, do I look like a mother of an adult man?"
She wrinkled her nose, opened her lips, kissed, and I myself agreed that she did not like her mother.

... they went into the corridor to waltz to the music, which no one heard.

You told me, dad: "When I die, pinned me to the sky".

There's old Pete, face like a searchlight. ... Tells me once he's tired, and through these two words, see his whole life on the railroad, see him working to tell time, sweating, looking for the right loop for the button on his railroad overalls, knocked out power to cope with work that others are given a breeze, and they sit on the chair with the cardboard, and read detectives and books with naked Babes.
He had hoped to cope with it - knew from the beginning that he can not afford, but he had to try to not divide at all. So for forty years he was able to live, if not in the world of men, at least on the sidelines.
See all this, and it hurts me so, as has happened hurt by what I saw in the army, in the war.

That old Colonel Matheson. reads the writings of the wrinkles of that long yellow hand. I look close at him because I see him probably for the last time.
<...>
I see him so clear I see his whole life.
The face is sixty years of southwest army camps, it pitted wrought steel wheels caissons, worn to the bone by thousands of feet on two-day marches.

I've been doing this for a long time - wipe, will promocao, shakes, and in this room, in the old, wooden, in the old building that the staff doesn't even notice me; I revolve, and they look through me like I'm not - if I hadn't come, they'd notice only that between them floats in the air a bucket and a sponge.