Admitting defeat? How un-huntress like of you.

Infatuation. First Love. Lust. My passion can be explained away. But this is sure: Whatever she touches, she reveals.

It’s like being offered lemonade after having something really sweet. The lemonade was wonderful before, but it just tastes sour after.

For a brief moment, I considered deconstructing the song and going down a cerebral road, but then I realized it would kill what is most powerful about it.

I see no reason to have my shirts ironed. It's irrational.

Without the beat in the background, Jazz basically sounds like an armadillo was let loose on the keyboard.

I have the feeling it will influence my future writing to the extent that without any material worries I could develop a greater ease, even lightheartedness, in my writing

God's presence is all that matters.

The urge to gamble is so universal and its practice so pleasurable that I assume it must be evil.

The single greatest world transformation would simply be the embrace of global reasonableness and pluralistic tolerance the global embrace of egoic-rationality (on the way to centauric vision-logic).

I knew I was too late—and I was glad something bloodthirsty waited in the wings. For in failing at this, I forfeited any desire to live.