Who and of what import were the men whose bones bulk the Great Wall, the thirty million Mao starved, or the thirty million children not yet five who die each year now? Why, they are the insignificant others, of course; living or dead, they are just some of the plentiful others...And you? To what end were we billions of oddballs born?

I sip my coffee. I look at the mountain, which is still doing its tricks, as you look at a still-beautiful face belonging to a person who was once your lover in another country years ago: with fond nostalgia, and recognition, but no real feelings save a secret astonishment that you are now strangers. Thanks. For the memories. It is ironic that the one thing that all religions recognize as separating us from our creator--our very self-consciousness--is also the one thing that divides us from our fellow creatures. It was a bitter birthday present from evolution, cutting us off at both ends.

The creative process obtains in all creative acts. So if I'm painting suddenly I'll see something that I didn't see before.

What could you say to a dying person that would not enrage by its triviality?

why did I have to keep learning this same thing over and over?

He judged the instant and let go; he flung himself loose into the stars.

Doing something does not require discipline. It creates its own discipline - with a little help from caffeine.