He stops, looks up at this window, and I can see the white oblong of his face. We look at each other. I have no rose to toss, he has no lute. But it's the same kind of hunger.

I always thought eating was a ridiculous activity anyway. I'd get out of it myself if I could, though you've got to do it to stay alive, they tell me.

Messy love is better than none, I guess. I am no authority on sane living.

The future of narrative? Built in, part of the human template. Not going away. The future of the codex book, with pages and so forth? A platform for transmitting narratives.

Our biggest moral debt is to the environment. Take-take-take, nothing given back.

But people will do anything rather than admit that their lives have no meaning. No use, that is. No plot.

The use of "religion" as an excuse to repress the freedom of expression and to deny human rights is not confined to any country or time.