Rage is really only for the good days. The truth is there's little of that left. the truth is that the forms I see have been slowly emptied out. They no longer have any content. They are shapes only. A train, a wall, a world. Or a man. A thing dangling in senseless articulation in a howling void. No meaning to its life. Its words. Why would I seek the company of such a thing? Why?

Do you think that your fathers are watching? That they weigh you in their ledgerbook? Against what? There is no book and your fathers are dead in the ground.

I always thought when I got older that God would sort of come into my life in some way. He didn't. I don't blame him. If I was him I'd have the same opinion about me that he does.

Life is a memory, and then it is nothing.

Our waking life's desire to shape the world to our convenience invites all manner of paradox and difficulty.

Men say they only learn this but he said that no creature can learn that which his heart has no shape to hold.

Your heart's desire is to be told some mystery. The mystery is that there is no mystery.