The term clinical depression finds its way into too many conversations these days. One has a sense that a catastrophe has occurred in the psychic landscape.

It doesn't matter what you do because it's going to happen anyway.

I'd written a lot of songs with hummingbirds in them. None of them ever came to anything, but I did write a few lines last month. It went like this: 'Listen to the hummingbird whose wings you cannot see. Listen to the hummingbird, don't listen to me'.

Do not believe the truth. The truth is tiny compared to what you have to do.

Although only one man may be receiving the favors of a woman, all men in her presence are warmed.

Follow me, the wise man said, but he walked behind.

I don't have any spiritual strategy.