A man walks down the street. It's a street in a strange world. Maybe it's the third world. Maybe it's his first time around. He doesn't speak the language. He holds no currency. He is a foreign man. He is surrounded by the sound, sound of cattle in the marketplace, scatterlings and orphanages. He looks around, around he sees angels in the architecture spinning in infinity and he says, "Amen" and "Hallelujah!

We had many more points of agreement than we had points of difference, but we did differ, and the bigger we got, the more insistent we got that each one of us should have his way.

All lies and jests, still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest.

Every generation throws a hero up the pop charts.

You know, life is what you make of it- so beautiful or so what.

One man's ceiling is another man's floor.

...what threatens us today in the world of computers and other invasions of privacy is not a national ID card but a number of other things.