Life in Anaheim, California, was a commercial for itself, endlessly replayed. Nothing changed; it just spread out farther and farther in the form of neon ooze. What there was always more of had been congealed into permanence long ago, as if the automatic factory that cranked out these objects had jammed in the on position.

Sometimes one must try anything, it is no disgrace. On the contrary, it is a sign of wisdom.

In a nutshell-I fear authority but at the same time I resent it-the authority and my own fear. So I rebel.

Death hides within every religion. And at any time it can flash forth-not with healing in its wings but with poison, with that which wounds.

Should we have a leader or should we think for ourselves? Obviously the latter in principle. But-sometimes there lies a gulf between what is theoretically right and that which is practical.

And of course, in my writing, there is the constant theme of music, love of, preoccupation with, music. Music is the single thread making my life into a coherency.

Truth, she thought. As terrible as death. But harder to find.