Whenever I read _Time_ or _Newsweek_ or such magazines, I wash my hands afterward. But how to wash off the small but odious stain such reading leaves on the mind?

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

From the point of view of a tapeworm, man was created by God to serve the appetite of the tapeworm.

It is an author's most solemn obligation to honor truth. If the free and independent writer does not speak truth to power, who will?

A society that feels itself too poor to afford the preservation of wilderness is not worthy of the name civilization.

I despise my own nation most. Because I know it best. Because I still love it, suffering from Hope. For me, that's patrotism.

In the dog-eat-dog economy, the Doberman is boss.