...and when is enough proof enough?

Can’t you even tell me if I’m on the right track?" Buckminster purred, and Dad shrugged his shoulders again. "But if you don’t tell me anything, how can I ever be right?" He circled something in an article and said, "Another way of looking at it would be, how could you ever be wrong?

The hardest part of writing is not to get the ideas but to remember, why it is important to get them.

The images of his infinite pasts and infinite futures washed over him as he waited, paralyzed, in the present.

Our relationship to the environment matters, our relationship to animals matters, and our relationship to culture matters.

...the meaning of my thoughts started to float away from me, like leaves that fall from a tree into a river, I was the tree, the world was the river.

To feel alone is to be alone.