I survive by finding the sweet spot between reason and unreason, between the rational and irrational.

Pure, hard-core liberals believe in a superior race. They think they're it. They believe they're more intelligent than the general run of mankind, better suited than the little people are to manage the little people's lives. They think they have the one true vision, the ability to solve all the moral dilemmas of the century. They prefer big government because that is the first step to totalitarianism, toward unquestioned rule by the elite. And of course they see themselves as the elite.

I have learned a great deal from novels. Some of it is even true.

The truth was stranger than the official fiction.

We have a responsibility to stand watch over one another, we are watchers, all of us, watchers, guarding against the darkness.

When life hands us a beutiful bouquet of flowers we stare at it in cautious expectation of a bee.

Love was a sacred garment, woven of a fabric so thin that it could not be seen, yet so strong that even mighty death could not tear it, a garment that could not be frayed by use, that brought warmth into what would otherwise be an intolerable, cold world- but at times love could also be as heavy as chain mail. Bearing the burden of love, on those occasions when it was a solemn weight, made it more precious when, in better times, it caught the wind in sleeves like wings, and lifted you.