Tonight the thoughts of the dead are turning back to the earth.

An immense body, encircling my delirium, a body made of wind and sunlight, crouching and stretching, encompassed the existence of the slightest human echo.

A star shoots bleeding across the skyline, a companion to the black wind. Silence comes sweeping across everything.

My wound existed before me; I was born to embody it.

Now the night's breath responds to the sea, which I can scarcely hear from here, as it reminisces about its shipwrecks.

I gazed upon the earth and saw that a body, in its tender faithlessness, had located it in the sky. A splendid scarf of blood, looming above the abyss.

For emotion is the enemy of rational argument.

We are being swallowed up by the popular culture of the United States but then the Americans are being swallowed up by it too. It's just as much a threat to American culture as it is to ours.

We are on the verge of a global transformation. All we need is the right major crisis.

Palaeontological research exhibits, beyond question, the phenomenon of provinces in time, as well as provinces in space.

Golf is game of respect and sportsmanship; we have to respect its traditions and its rules.

When I hear [about a housing bubble] I get the sense that people aren't connecting the dots.

Taste is only to be educated by contemplation, not of the tolerably good but of the truly excellent.

What we know is everything, it is our limit, of what we can be.

So as the years draw on toward the Biblical limit, the inclination to look back, and to tell some sort of story of what one has seen, grows upon most of us.

I'm a little funny when it comes to blood and guts and stuff like that.