Music is a savage art, a measured madness.
Poetry -- even bad poetry -- may be our final hope.
Paradise for a happy man lies in his own good nature.
To meet God or Medusa face to face, even if it means risking everything human in myself. I dream of a hard and brutal mysticism in which the naked self merges with the nonhuman world and yet somehow survives still intact individual, separate. Paradox and bedrock.
In a nation of sheep, one brave man forms a majority.
And if the computer gives you any back talk, pour some well-sugared office coffee into its evil little silicon brain.