How sad, how strange, we make companions out of air and hurt them, so they will defy us, completing creation.
Without rain, there would be no life.
There is always a chance of failure, of producing something totally unnecessary. But I guess that chance of failure is what makes tightrope walking, race-car driving.
We are cruel enough without meaning to be.
Dreams come true; without that possibility, nature would not incite us to have them.
Journalism has not only its social stimulations but its aesthetic virtues. An invitation into print, from however suspect a source, is an opportunity to make something beautiful, to discover within oneself a treasure that would otherwise have remained buried.