Never mind the track. The track is for punks. We are Road People. We are Cafe Racers.

The car suddenly veered off the road and we came to a sliding halt in the gravel. I was hurled against the dashboard. My attorney was slumped over the wheel. “What’s wrong?” I yelled. “We can’t stop here. This is bat country!

At the top of the mountain we are all snow leopards.

There might be some serious fun in politics.

Nixon was no more a saint than he was a great president.

I had a soft-spot in my heart for Ronald Reagan, if only because he was a sportswriter in his youth.

Every reaction is a learning process; every significant experience alters your perspective. So it would seem foolish, would it not, to adjust our lives to the demands of a goal we see from a different angle everyday? How could we ever hope to accomplish anything anther than galloping neurosis?