The fire. The odor of burning juniper is the sweetest fragrance on the face of the earth, in my honest judgment; I doubt if all the smoking censers of Dante's paradise could equal it. One breath of juniper smoke, like the perfume of sagebrush after rain, evokes in magical catalysis, like certain music, the space and light and clarity and piercing strangeness of the American West. Long may it burn.

Every important change in our society, for the good, at least, has taken place because of popular pressure-pressure from below, from the great mass of people.

When the situation is desperate, it is too late to be serious. Be playful.

The greater your dreams, the more terrible your nightmares.

In a nation of sheep, one brave man forms a majority.

The artist's job? To be a miracle worker: make the blind see, the dull feel, the dead to live.

We know so very little about this strange planet we live on, this haunted world where all answers lead only to more mystery.