It is not death or dying that is tragic, but rather to have existed without fully participating in life- that is the deepest personal tragedy.

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

Nature is indifferent to our love, but never unfaithful.

I've wrecked and ravaged half my life in the pursuit of women, and I suffer the pangs of about seventeen regrets -- the seventeen who got away.

At some point we must draw a line across the ground of our home and our being, drive a spear into the land and say to the bulldozers, earthmovers, government and corporations, "thus far and no further." If we do not, we shall later feel, instead of pride, the regret of Thoreau, that good but overly-bookish man, who wrote, near the end of his life, "If I repent of anything it is likely to be my good behaviour.

I thought of the wilderness we had left behind us, open to sea and sky, joyous in its plenitude and simplicity, perfect yet vulnerable, unaware of what is coming, defended by nothing, guarded by no one.

There are circumstances in which suicide presents a viable option; a workable alternative; the only sensible solution.