habit, a particularly insidious thug who chokes passion and smothers love. Habit puts us on autopilot.

When I go biking, I am mentally far far away from civilization. The world is breaking someone else's heart.

If cynicism is inevitable as one ages, so is the yearning for innocence. To children heaven is being an adult, and to adults heaven is being children again.

The more we exile ourselves from nature, the more we crave its miracle waters.

When I go biking, I repeat a mantra of the day's sensations: bright sun, blue sky, warm breeze, blue jay's call, ice melting and so on. This helps me transcend the traffic, ignore the clamorings of work, leave all the mind theaters behind and focus on nature instead. I still must abide by the rules of the road, of biking, of gravity. But I am mentally far away from civilization. The world is breaking someone else's heart.

I am a great fan of the universe, which I take literally: as one. All of it interests me, and it interests me in detail.

One of the keystones of romantic love - and also of the ecstatic religion practiced by mystics - is the powerful desire to become one with the beloved.