The rules of grammar exist in large part to permit readers and writers to operate from a shared set of expectations.

Cure the symptoms, cure the disease.

Yes, you have cancer. Yes, your kids are on drugs. Yes, there is an elephant outside your tent. Now the question becomes, What are you going to do about it? Subsequent emotions may not be pleasant, but the hysteria stops. Hysteria accompanies an unwillingness to look at what is really going on; it promotes an unwillingness to look. We feel we are afraid to look, when actually it is not-looking that makes us afraid. The minute we look, we cease being afraid.

All major changes are like death. You can't see to the other side until you are there.

And that's how things are. A day is like a whole life. You start out doing one thing, but end up doing something else, plan to run an errand, but never get there. . . . And at the end of your life, your whole existence has the same haphazard quality, too. Your whole life has the same shape as a single day.

Only assholes put a nickname on their business card.

The rules of grammar exist in large part to permit readers and writers to operate from a shared set of expectations.