Our world isn't made of earth, air and water or even molecules and atoms; our world is made of language.

Sometimes one gets the feeling that life still thinks it's living in Paris in the '30s.

Wit and playfulness represent a desperately serious transcendence of evil. Humor is both a form of wisdom and a means of survival.

Reality whistles a different tune underwater.

Reality is contradictory. And it's paradoxical.

Certain individual words do possess more pitch, more radiance, more shazam! than others, but it's the way words are juxtaposed with other words in a phrase or sentence that can create magic. Perhaps literally.

Poetry, the best of it, is lunar and is concerned with the essential insanities. Journalism is solar (there are numerous newspapers named The Sun, none called The Moon) and is devoted to the inessential.