Rock Is Much More Malleable Than Ideas.

You Could Never Teach Other People Anything That Mattered. The Important Things They Had To Learn For Themselves, Almost Always By Making Mistakes, So That The Lessons Arrived Too Late To Help. Experience Was In That Sense Useless. It Was Precisely What Could Not Be Passed Along In A Lesson.

How Was It That Destruction Could Be So Beautiful? Was There Something In The Scale Of It? Was There Some Shadow In People, Lusting For It? Or Was It Just A Coincidental Combination Of The Elements, The Final Proof That Beauty Has No Moral Dimension?

Fights Over Ideas Are The Most Vicious Of All. If It Were Merely Food, Or Water, Or Shelter, We Would Work Something Out. But In The Realm Of Ideas One Can Become Idealistic .

The Sky Itself Is The Eighth Color Of The Rainbow, Spread Over The Whole Sky For Us, All The Time.

History Is A Wave That Moves Through Time Slightly Faster Than We Do.