He says his aim is poetry. One does not aim at poetry with pistols. At poets, perhaps.

Real data is messy. ...It's all very noisy out there. Very hard to spot the tune. Like a piano in the next room, it's playing your song, but unfortunately it's out of whack, some of the strings are missing, and the pianist is tone deaf and drunk- I mean, the noise! Impossible!

Death followed by eternity the worst of both worlds. It is a terrible thought.

My whole life is waiting for the questions to which I have prepared answers.

Uncertainty is the normal state.

Before Plato could describe love, the loved one had to be invented. We would never love anybody if we could see past our invention. Bosie is my creation, my poem. In the mirror of invention, love discovered itself.

All mystical experience is coincidence; and vice versa, of course.