We die to each other daily. What we know of other people is only our memory of the moments during which we knew them. And they have changed since then. To pretend that they and we are the same is a useful and convenient social convention which must sometimes be broken. We must also remember that at every meeting we are meeting a stranger.

When the Stranger says: "What is the meaning of this city? Do you huddle close together because you love each other?" What will you answer? "We all dwell together To make money from each other"? or "This is a community"? Oh my soul, be prepared for the coming of the Stranger. Be prepared for him who knows how to ask questions.

Every moment is a new and shocking transvaluation of all we have ever been.

Liberty is a different kind of pain from prison.

I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

No place of grace for those who avoid the Face. No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny the Voice.

The last thing one discovers in composing a work is what to put first.