I had huge ambition for literature. I don't see the point of doing anything if you don't have ambition for it.

the buddhists say there are 149 ways to god. i'm not looking for god, only for myself, and that is far more complicated.

Earth is ancient now, but all knowledge is stored up in her. She keeps a record of everything that has happened since time began. Of time before time, she says little, and in a language that no one has yet understood. Through time, her secret codes have gradually been broken. Her mud and lava is a message from the past. Of time to come, she says much, but who listens?

We're here, there, not here, not there, swirling like specks of dust, claiming for ourselves the rights of the universe. Being important, being nothing, being caught in lives of our own making that we never wanted. Breaking out, trying again, wondering why the past comes with us, wondering how to talk about the past at all.

I felt like a thief with a bagful of stolen glances.

your morse code interferes with my heart beat. I had a steady heart before you, I replied upon it, it had seen active service and grown strong. Now you alter its pace with your own rhythm you play upon me, drumming me taught.

I will do whatever I have to do to reach people with the things I believe are important. Life is too short not to do everything you can.