Symbolic of life, hair bolts from our head[s]. Like the earth, it can be harvested, but it will rise again. We can change its color and texture when the mood strikes us, but in time it will return to its original form, just as Nature will in time turn our precisely laid-out cities into a weed-way.

Which is crueler, an old man's lost memories of a life lived, or a young man's lost memories of the life he meant to live?

Success produces success, just as money produces money.

As the most social apes, we inhabit a mirror-world in which every important relationship, whether with spouse, friend or child, shapes the brain, which in turn shapes our relationships.

What an odd, ruminating, noisy, self-interrupting conversation we conduct with ourselves from birth to death.

Mystery causes a mental itch, which the brain tries to soothe with the balm of reasonable talk.

History is an agreed-upon fiction.