A messy mortal is my friend. Come walk with me in the mud.

We become what we look at most.

Most words evolved as a description of the outside world, hence their inadequacy to describe what is going on inside me.

I live now and only now, and I will do what I want to do this moment and not what I decided was best for me yesterday.

I can't be found in myself; I discover myself in others. That much is clear. And I suspect that I also love and care for myself in others.

Books seek us out. They slip themselves into our hands just at the time we are ready for a new self-concept.

Sometimes I doubt and sometimes I believe. And I like not making myself believe when I am doubting, and not making myself doubt when I am believing. Surely neither God nor Accident need my consistency.