Both of us victims of the same twentieth-century plague. Not the Black Death, this time; the Gray Life.

Wherever the choice has had to be made between the man of reason and the madman, the world has unhesitatingly followed the madman.

Words form the thread on which we string our experiences.

It is natural to believe in God when you're alone-- quite alone, in the night, thinking about death.

But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.

I was not looking now at an unusual flower arrangement. I was seeing what Adam had seen on the morning of his creation - the miracle, moment by moment, of naked existence.

That all men are equal is a proposition to which, at ordinary times, no sane human being has ever given his assent.