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.

The basic science is not physics or mathematics but biology -- the study of life. We must learn to think both logically and bio-logically.

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

Poetry -- even bad poetry -- may be our final hope.

The only thing worse than a knee-jerk liberal is a knee-pad conservative.

The majority of American writers today have chosen passive non-resistance to things as they are, producing sloughs of poetry about their personal angst and anomie, cascades of short stories and rivers of novels obsessed with the nuances of domestic relationships - suburban hanky-panky - chic boutique shopping mall literary soap opera. When they do speak out on matters of controversy they attack not the evils of our time but fellow writers who may insist on complaining.

It may be true that there are no atheists in foxholes. But you don't find many Christians there, either. Or, about as many of one as the other.