My Whole Life Is My Work.

Your Culture Has Become Sophisticated, Like A Computer, Or A Drug That You Take For A Headache. You Can Use It, But You Cannot Explain How It Works. Certainly Not To Girls Who Stack Up Their Firewood Against The Side Of The House.

The Future Looks Like Gasoline. . . . Crude Oil . . . Is The Future Before It Has Been Refined. It Is Like A Dream Of The Future, Really, And Like Any Dream It Ends With A Rude Awakening.

A Scar Is Never Ugly. That Is What The Scar Makers Want Us To Think. A Scar Does Not Form On The Dying. A Scar Means, I Survived.

Yet War Doesn't End With Armistice, It Only Ends With Forgiveness And Reconciliation.

Death, Of Course, Is A Refuge. It's Where You Go When A New Name, Or A Mask And Cape, Can No Longer Hide You From Yourself. It's Where You Run To When None Of The Principalities Of Your Conscience Will Grant You Asylum.