He Who Marches Out Of

Living Is The Purpose Of Life, And Meaning Can Be Found Therein. I Finds Thou. Thou Becomes It. And It Begins Again.

To Hell With Facts! We Need Stories.

The Job Of The Writer Is To Kiss No Ass, No Matter How Big And Holy And White And Tempting And Powerful.

Ritual Is Necessary For Us To Know Anything.

The Raw Materials Of Reality Without The Glue Of Time Are Materials Adrift And Reality Is As Meaningless As The Balsa Parts Of A Model Airplane Scattered To The Wind.