James Joyce buried himself in his great work. _Finnegan's Wake_ is his monument and his tombstone. A dead end.

Art, science, philosophy, religion -- each offers at best only a crude simplification of actual living experience.

Instant communication is not communication at all but merely a frantic, trivial, nerve-wracking bombardment of cliches, threats, fads, fashions, gibberish and advertising.

In all of nature, there is no sound more pleasing than that of a hungry animal at its feed. Unless you are the food.

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

The canyon country does not always inspire love. To many it appears barren, hostile, repellent - a fearsome mostly waterless land of rock and heat, sand dunes and quicksand, cactus, thornbrush, scorpion, rattlesnake, and agaraphobic distances. To those who see our land in that manner, the best reply is, yes, you are right, it is a dangerous and terrible place. Enter at your own risk. Carry water. Avoid the noonday sun. Try to ignore the vultures. Pray frequently.

Nature, like Maimonides said, is mainly a good place to throw beer cans on Sunday afternoons.