I always write with my .357 magnum handy. Why? Well, you never know when God may try to interfere.

The national parks belong to everyone. To the people. To all of us. The government keeps saying so and maybe, in this one case at least, the government is telling the truth. Hard to believe, but possible.

Each thing in its way, when true to its own character, is equally beautiful. (p 41)

The gurus come from the sickliest nation on earth to tell us how to live. And we pay them for it.

Of all bores, the worst is the sparkling bore.

I have been called a curmudgeon, which my obsolescent dictionary defines as a "surly, illmannered, badtempered fellow." ... Nowadays, curmudgeon is likely to refer to anyone who hates hypocrisy, cant, sham, dogmatic ideologies, the pretenses and evasions of euphemism, and has the nerve to point out unpleasant facts and takes the trouble to impale these sins on the skewer of humor and roast them over the fires of empiric fact, common sense, and native intelligence. In this nation of bleating sheep and braying jackasses, it then becomes an honor to be labeled curmudgeon.

The industrial corporation is the natural enemy of nature.