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

I've always assumed that every time a child is born, the Divine reenters the world. Okay? That's the meaning of the Christmas story. And every time that child's purity is corrupted by society, that's the meaning of the Crucifixion story. Your man Jesus stands for that child, that pure spirit, and as its surrogate, he's being born and put to death again and again, over and over, every time we inhale and exhale, not just at the vernal equinox and on the twenty-fifth of December.

The fact is, what I hated in the Church was what I hated in society. Namely, authoritarians. Power freaks. Rigid dogmatists. Those greedy, underloved, undersexed twits who want to run everything. While the rest of us are busy living - busy tasting and testing and hugging and kissing and goofing and growing - they are busy taking over.

The scientist keeps the romantic honest, and the romantic keeps the scientist human.

The sky was the color of Edgar Allan Poe's pajamas.

Disbelief in magic can force a poor soul into believing in government and business.

There're many ways, my dear, to victimize people. The most insidious way is to persuade them that they're victims.