Man's guilt in history and in the tides of his own blood has been complicated by technology, the daily seeping falsehearted death.

There is a world inside the world.

People hurried past, the others of the street, endless anonymous, twenty-one lives per second, race-walking in their faces and pigments, sprays of fleetest being.

I am very unmusical. I can't carry a tune. I would never be able to play an instrument.

We seem to believe it is possible to ward off death by following rules of good grooming.

I never wanted to change the world. Norman Mailer wanted to, he set himself the task of changing the consciousness of our age. And I think he came pretty close, in the 1960s, to actually managing to do it. But me? No, no, I never wanted anything like that. I'm not Maileresque.

Human existence had to have a deeper source than our own dank fluids. Dank or rank. There had to be a force behind it, a principal being who was and is and ever shall be.