This is the nature of going forward into being: A series of self-transforming ascents of level.

Even as the nineteenth century had to come to grips with the notion of human descent from apes, we must now come to terms with the fact that those apes were stoned apes.

This is what magic is. It's being able to speak in a voice which makes things happen, being able to speak in a voice which causes facts to be beheld by groups of people in a way that has been purged from profane language, for us relegated to poetry and that sort of thing.

We are like coral animals in a vast reef of excreted technological material that is wired for solid state data transfer.

Television, while chemically non-invasive, nevertheless is every bit as addicting and physiologically damaging as any other drug.

Notice that the whole story of Eden is the story of the struggle over a woman's relationship to a psychoactive plant.

We are an intelligent species caught in an historical process. No generation which proceeded us knew what was going on, and there is no reason to assume that we know what's going on or that the generation which follows us will know what's going on. And what kind of trip is it anyway to insist on knowing what's going on?