Our individuality is all, all, that we have. There are those who barter it for security, those who repress it for what they believe is the betterment of the whole society, but blessed in the twinkle of the morning star is the one who nurtures it and rides it in, in grace and love and wit, from peculiar station to peculiar station along life's bittersweet route.

There are essential and inessential insanities. The later are solar in character, the former are linked to the moon.

To an artist a metaphor is as real as a dollar.

What are the odds that two separate writers, strangers, a thousand miles apart, would each invent fictions in which guys take girls to an esoteric frog lecture on their first date? If that isn't synchronicity, it's something equally as weird.

Curiosity, especially intellectual inquisitiveness, is what separates the truly alive from those who are merely going through the motions.

Early religions were like muddy ponds with lots of foliage. Concealed there, the fish of the soul could splash and feed. Eventually, however, religions became aquariums. Then hatcheries. From farm fingerling to frozen fish stick is a short swim.

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