The sky itself is the eighth color of the rainbow, spread over the whole sky for us, all the time.

But lies were what people wanted; that was politics.

Beauty is power and elegance, right action, form fitting function, intelligence, and reasonability. And very often expressed in curves.

You can only kill disappointment with a new try.

All the repetitions in the pattern were superficial; the moment was always new. It had to be lived, and then the next moment embraced as it arrived.

There was nothing for it but to pace through just behind or ahead of the spooling present that was never there, caught in the nonexistent interval between the nonexistent past and the nonexistent future.

History is a wave that moves through time slightly faster than we do.