Rule of religion: purpose breathes even in dirt and stones.
New York is full of abandoned churches. A Godless city, but full of superstitions on every subject--art, money, sex, food, health.
Like a frog, the aphorist waits for something to fly by that he can catch with his tongue.
Death is hacking away at my address book and party lists.
Only the most lucid can see their love as comedy.
Sometimes the only way to become grounded is to hit bottom.