A man without words is a man without thought.

What freedom men and women could have, were they not constantly tricked and trapped and enslaved and tortured by their sexuality! The only drawback in that freedom is that without it one would not be a human. One would be a monster.

You are not a man anymore. You are a soldier. Your comfort is of no importance and your life isn't of much importance. Most of your orders will be unpleasant, but that's not your business. They should've trained you for this, and not for flower-strewn streets. They should have built your soul with truth, not led along with lies.

The craft or art of writing is the clumsy attempt to find symbols for the wordlessness.

Four hoarse blasts of a ship's whistle still raise the hair on my neck and set my feet to tapping.

My own journey started long before I left, and was over before I returned.

Men really need sea-monsters in their personal oceans. An ocean without its unnamed monsters would be like a completely dreamless sleep.