Time itself is our tragedy and most of us are fighting some kind of war against it.

Lost really has two disparate meanings. Losing things is about the familiar falling away, getting lost is about the unfamiliar appearing.

Perfection is a stick with which to beat the possible.

Previous technologies have expanded communication. But the last round may be contracting it. The eloquence of letters has turned into the unnuanced spareness of texts; the intimacy of phone conversations has turned into the missed signals of mobile phone chat ... ('you're breaking up' is the cry of our time).

I walk wherever my errands take me.

Violence doesn't have a race, a class, a religion, or a nationality, but it does have a gender.

The Earth we evolved to inhabit is turning into something more turbulent and unreliable at a pace too fast for most living things to adapt to.