To have humanism we must first be convinced of our humanity. As we move further into decadence this becomes more difficult.

Real flight and dreams of flight go together. Both are part of the same movement. Not A before B, but all together.

Information. What's wrong with dope and women? Is it any wonder the world's gone insane, with information come to be the only real medium of exchange?

My belief is that "recluse" is a code word generated by journalists... meaning, "doesn't like to talk to reporters."

Someday she might replace whatever of her had gone away by some prosthetic device, a dress of a certain color, a phrase in a letter, another lover.

It's been a prevalent notion. Fallen sparks. Fragments of vessels broken at the Creation. And someday, somehow, before the end, a gathering back to home. A messenger from the Kingdom, arriving at the last moment. But I tell you there is no such message, no such home -- only the millions of last moments . . . nothing more. Our history is an aggregate of last moments.

What are the stars but points in the body of God where we insert the healing needles of our terror and longing?