Harsh words live in the dungeon of the heart

America is a hurricane, and the only people who do not hear the sound are those fortunate if incredibly stupid and smug White Protestants who live in the center, in the serene eye of the big wind.

I think it's bad to talk about one's present work, for it spoils something at the root of the creative act. It discharges the tension.

And so I ask, "Would You agree that sex is where philosophy begins?" But God, who is the oldest of the philosophers, answers in his weary cryptic way, "Rather think of Sex as Time, and Time as the connection of new circuits.

If only gravity were working, the path would be symmetrical, it is the wind resistance that produces the tragic curve.

The contradictory remarks of politicians are forgotten; the more asinine predictions of pundits are buried with mercy.

...never have I subscribed to the doctrine of willful rejection of the world or its visual image. To the non-objectivist this act of impiety may be shockingly impure, but God, I have no desire to be either hollow or sterile.