Christmas... is not an external event at all, but a piece of one's home that one carries in one's heart.

All our acts have sacramental possibilities.

monotony is not to be worshipped as a virtue; nor the marriage bed treated as a coffin for security rather than a couch from which to rise refreshed.

Once divested of missionary virus, the cult of our gods gives no offence. It would be a peaceful age if this were recognized, and religion, Christian, communist or any other, were to rely on practice and not on conversion for her growth.

Christmas... is not an external event at all, but a piece of one's home that one carries in one's heart.

Whoever designed this frigging map was having a laugh. Just around the corner, my arse.

This is one of the charms of the desert, that removing as it does nearly all the accessories of life, we see the thin thread of necessities on which our human existence is suspended.