You can understand why a system would seek information - but why in hell does it offer information? Why do we strive to be understood? Why is a refusal to accept communication so painful?

Being, I imagine, must be very simple. It is Becoming which is so messy and which I am all for.

I dreamed horse and lived horse and expected, if necessary, to marry a horse; for all practical purposes I was a horse.

Absolutes are absolutely dangerous.

The only way I can possibly heat my so-called mind up to working temperature is to imagine I'm talking to someone I admire.

Anyone who shoots a real gun at you when drunk and angry is simply not husband material, regardless of his taste in literature.

I am one of those that always get accidentally guillotined when the Great Day of Liberation comes, because ... I guess ... I am full of parentheses. Revolutions can't abide parentheses.