A day cannot live in infamy without the nourishment of rage. Let's have rage.

A rattlesnake loose in the living room tends to end all discussion of animal rights.

The real 1960s began on the afternoon of November 22, 1963. It came to seem that Kennedy's murder opened some malign trap door in American culture, and the wild bats flapped out.

Everywhere you hang your hat is home. Home is the bright cave under the hat.

The Church became both more accessible and less imposing. It threw itself open to risk.

As American productivity, once the exuberant engine of national wealth, has dipped to an embarrassingly uncompetitive low, Americans have shaken their heads: the country's old work ethic is dead.

The busybodies have begun to infect American society with a nasty intolerance - a zeal to police the private lives of others and hammer them into standard forms - A Nation of Finger Pointers.