People are, in the confines of their own apartments, becoming Magellans of the interior world and reaching out to this alien thing and beginning to map it and bring back stories that can only be compared to the kind of stories that the chroniclers of the New World brought back to Spain at the close of the 15th century.

Closure is a neurotic and infantile demand to make upon reality, other people, or language.

Nature is actually the goal at the end of history.

I think there is a global commonality of understanding coming into being. And it is not necessarily fostered by institutions.

What history is, essentially, is a careening, out-of-control effort to find our way back to this state of primordial balance.

Drugs induce paranoia and psychosis in people who have never taken any.

How can we know who is the other until we know who is the self?