Real estate doesn’t interest me. It’s no doubt a great flaw in my personality, but I can’t think in terms of boundaries. Those imaginary lines are as unreal to me as elves and pixies. I can’t believe that they mark the end or the beginning of anything of real concern to a human soul.
Puny man can do nothing at all to help or please God Almighty, and Luck is not the hand of God.
Perhaps, when we remember wars, we should take off our clothes and paint ourselves blue and go on all fours all day long and grunt like pigs. That would surely be more appropriate than noble oratory and shows of flags and well-oiled guns.
People have to talk about something just to keep their voice boxes in working order, so they’ll have good voice boxes in case there’s ever anything really meaningful to say.
People don’t come to church for preachments, of course, but to daydream about God.
People aren’t supposed to look back. I’m certainly not going to do it anymore.
Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God.
Our leaders are sick of all the solid information that has been dumped on humanity by research and scholarship and investigative reporting. They think that the whole country is sick of it, and they could be right. It isn’t the gold standard that they want to put us back on. They want something even more basic. They want to put us back on the snake-oil standard.
Our aim is to make the world more beautiful than it was when we came into it. It can be done. You can do it.
Oh, sure, we have another world war coming, and another great depression, but where are the leaders this time?
Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, “It might have been.”
No art is possible without a dance with death.