We are all born like Catholics, aren't we—in limbo, without religion, until some figure introduces us to God?

Life and death live and die in exactly the same spot, the body. It is from there that both babies and cancers are born.

How does one say in the jargon of musicology that my sould was pulled out of me and thrown up in the air, to be tossed about by the music. How does one say that I breathed, that I existed, in harmony with the ups and downs of those notes. What kind of notes both elevate and cast down, exalt and crush?

I've never forgotten him. Dare I say I miss him? I do. I miss him. I still see him in my dreams. They are nightmares mostly, but nightmares tinged with love. Such is the strangeness of the human heart. I still cannot understand how he could abandon me so unceremoniously, without any sort of goodbye, without looking back even once. The pain is like an axe that chops my heart.

I turned around, stepped over the Zebra and threw myself overboard.

It was as unbelievable as the moon catching fire.

If you don't let technology help you, if you resist good ideas, you condemn yourself to dinosaurhood.