At what point in my struggle with nature will nature finally give up?

There may not be a Heaven, but there is a San Francisco.

Love is a strange commodity, because you can't import it if you don't also export it.

Maybe I'm lucky to be going so slowly, because I may be going in the wrong direction

If you want to put yourself on the map, publish your own map.

The fact that many things have no explanation ought to prevent them from happening; but it doesn't.

Where would I be without my sense of direction.