In spite of all the refinements of civilization that conspired to make art--the dizzying perfection of the string quartet or the sprawling grandeur of Fragonard's canvases--beauty was savage. It was as dangerous and lawless as the earth had been eons before man had one single coherent thought in his head or wrote codes of conduct on tablets of clay. Beauty was a Savage Garden.

It's not so," I said. "And how long do you think it will sustain you, feeling and seeing and touching and tasting, if there is no love? No one with you?

Invest in a feather duster - the possibilities are endless.

Was it fair to say I didn't know the full state of my soul?

My life's been too much of a self-created vocation. And there are times when I think I've done everything in the name of defiance.

I enjoy the Web site a lot and I like being able to talk to my readers. I've always had a very close relationship with them.

Let the flesh instruct the mind.