Humans can be fairly ridiculous animals.

All of the promises of politicians, generals, madmen, and crusaders that war can create peace have yet to be borne out.

If you're standing in the manure pile, it's somebody's job to mention the stink.

Your dreams, what you hope for and all that, it's not separate from your life. It grows right up out of it.

Solitude is a human presumption. Every quiet step is thunder to beetle life underfoot, a tug of impalpable thread on the web pulling mate to mate and predator to prey, a beginning or an end. Every choice is a world made new for the chosen.

My way of finding a place in this world is to write one.

What you lose in blindness is the space around you, the place where you are, and without that you might not exist. You could be nowhere at all.