Society had a crime problem. It hired cops to attack crime. Now society has a cop problem.

There's no point in saving the world if it means losing the moon.

In the haunted house of life, art is the only stair that doesn't creak.

Society in general maintains such a vested interested in its cozy habits and solidified belief systems that it had rather die - or kill - than entertain change. Consider how threatened religious fundamentalists of all faiths remain to this day by science in general and Darwin in particular.

Something has got to hold it together. I'm saying my prayers to Elmer, the Greek god of glue.

Outlaws, like lovers, poets, and tubercular composers who cough blood onto piano keys, do their finest work in the slippery rays of the moon.

I could say I believe in every drop of rain that . . . Well, I believe life is a Zen koan, that is, an unsolvable riddle. But the contemplation of that riddle--even though it cannot be solved--is, in itself, transformative. And if the contemplation is of high enough quality, you can merge with the divine.