But one had to go back to the beginning of things, always. Trace the thread of life - find the knot - untangle it.

Religion is passionate, reckless, destructive, idol-smashing. It's a martyr burning at the stake. It's a crown of thorns and a cross.

There's precious little comes of telling people what they don't want to hear.

Growing old was simply a process of drawing closer to that ultimate independence called death.

The past ... is a dim avenue down which we may walk and find the diverging paths of terror and beauty and passion.

The snow again. White, white net of beauty, net of dream, trapping the earth, trapping the helpless heart of life.

God, what pathetic creatures had inherited the earth, to walk a little while with their eyes upon the stars and turn their gaze too soon upon the ground that held their feet!