Time will tell, I suppose, or at least, these pages will.

It's funny, don't you think, how time seems to do a lot of things? It flies, it tells, and worst of all, it runs out.

And then there's the sickness I feel from looking at legs I can't touch, or at lips that don't smile at me. Or hips that don't reach for me. And hearts that don't beat for me.

The city buildings in the distance are holding up the sky, it seems.

It makes me wonder, Do we spend most of our days trying to remember or forget things? Do we spend most of our time running towards or away from our lives? I don't know.

The only people we want to blame are ourselves, because it will be ourselves that we rely upon.

The thing is, I don't even hate cops. To tell you the truth, I actually feel a little sorry for them.

... because a fight's worth nothing if you know from the start that you're going to win it. It's the ones in between that test you. They're the ones that bring questions with them.

That paper--it sits there, open at the employment section. It sits there like a war, and each small advertisement is another trench for a person to dive into. To hope and fight in.

Judgment and decision making are often considered together.

Political correctness - the rigging of politics using different rules for different groups, and buttressed by the media - ensures that Democrats always have the upper hand.

I sometimes fall into the trap of doing what I think I should be doing rather than what I want to be doing.

I never really wanted kids. I didn't not want them, but motherhood just wasn't something that pulled at me.

Sure, I get the blues. But what I try to do, is apply joy to the blues, you know? I don't know if it's a technique, or just being bent that way, being raised by the folks I was raised by.

People should be judged on the things they do, not how they look.

At the age of 9, I read David Copperfield by Dickens. At 14, I read War and Peace by Tolstoy. They're both books I have reread regularly since.

And I believe what I believe / Is what makes me what I am / I did not make it, no it is making me / It is the very truth of God and not / The invention of any man.

I went to Cambridge and thought I would stay there. I thought I would quietly grow tweed in a corner somewhere and become a Don or something.

It is not far-fetched to draw a line from Operation Ajax through the Shah's repressive regime and the Islamic Revolution to the fireballs that engulfed the World Trade Center in New York.