We do not talk - we bludgeon one another with facts and theories gleaned from cursory readings of newspapers, magazines and digests.

We have two American flags always: one for the rich and one for the poor. When the rich fly it means that things are under control; when the poor fly it means danger, revolution, anarchy.

I like the one about the little soulworms that fly out of the nest for the resurrection.

Cluster together like stars!

Why are we so full of restraint? Why do we not give in all directions? Is it fear of losing ourselves? Until we do lose ourselves there is no hope of finding ourselves.

We live in the mind, in ideas, in fragments. We no longer drink in the wild outer music of the streets - we remember only.

Real love is never perplexed, never qualifies, never rejects, never demands. It replenishes, by grace of restoring unlimited circulation. It burns, because it knows the true meaning of sacrifice. It is life illuminated.