Every age fraught with discord and danger seems to spawn a leader meant only for that age, a political giant whose absence, in retrospect, seems inconceivable when the history of that age is written.

It's one of the strangest attributes of this profession that when we writers get exhausted writing one thing, we relax by writing another.

Evolution brings human beings. Human beings, through a long and painful process, bring humanity.

War must never be a condition but, rather, a temporary scourge which we suffer as a child does a fever, knowing that health follows the long night of pain and that peace is health.

Nobody gets beyond a petroleum economy. Not while there's petroleum there.

Words are the light and sound of our existence, the heat lightning by which the night is illuminated.

Life is brutal that way ... the loss of irrecoverable moments amid trivia and distraction.