People like you to be something, preferably what they are.

We gather our arms full of guilt as though it were precious stuff. It must be that we want it that way.

Ah, the prayers of the millions, how they must fight and destroy each other on their way to the throne of God.

And the little screaming fact that sounds through all history: repression works only to strengthen and knit the repressed.

A man who gets few letters does not open one lightly.

It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.

A few miles south of Soledad, the Salinas River drops in close to the hillside bank and runs deep and green. The water is warm too, for it has slipped twinkling over the yellow sands in the sunlight before reaching the narrow pool.