Dear Mother, I meant to write you before this and I hope you haven't been worried.... I have met some Beautiful People and...

God, newspapers have been making up stories forever. This kind of trifling and fooling around is not a function of the New Journalism.

[Aldous Huxley] compared the brain to a 'reducing valve'. In ordinary perception, the senses send an overwhelming flood of information to the brain, which the brain then filters down to a trickle it can manage for the purpose of survival in a highly competitive world. Man has become so rational, so utilitarian, that the trickle becomes most pale and thin. It is efficient, for mere survival, but it screens out the most wondrous part of man's potential experience without his even knowing it. We're shut off from our own world.

My entire career, in fiction or nonfiction, I have reported and written about people who are not like me.

Nonfiction is never going to die.

Everything was becoming allegorical, understood by the group mind, and especially this: "You're either on the bus...or off the bus.

a perception of the cosmic unity of this higher level. And a feeling of timelessness, the feeling that what we know as time is only the result of a naive faith in causality - the notion that A in the past caused B in the present, which will cause C in the future, when actually A, B, and C are all part of a pattern that can be truly understood only by opening the doors of perception and experiencing it... in this moment... this supreme moment... this Kairos.