I was once invited to take part in a heroic, possibly fatal enterprise, but I declined, mainly on account of sloth.

Freedom begins between the ears.

In art as in life, form and subject, body and soul, are one.

Somewhere in the depths of solitude, beyond wilderness and freedom, lay the trap of madness.

Despair leads to boredom, electronic games, computer hacking, poetry and other bad habits.

Night and day the river flows. If time is the mind of space, the River is the soul of the desert. Brave boatmen come, they go, they die, the voyage flows on forever. We are all canyoneers. We are all passengers on this little mossy ship, this delicate dory sailing round the sun that humans call the earth. Joy, shipmates, joy.

Why do I live in the desert? Because the desert is the *locus Dei*.