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And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep.
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How nice — to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive.
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We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.
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I want to stand as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can’t see from the center.
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A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved.
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And so it goes…
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Those who believe in telekinetics, raise my hand.
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And Lot’s wife, of course, was told not to look back where all those people and their homes had been. But she did look back, and I love her for that, because it was so human. So she was turned into a pillar of salt. So it goes.
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If I should ever die, God forbid, let this be my epitaph: THE ONLY PROOF HE NEEDED FOR THE EXISTENCE OF GOD WAS MUSIC
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Here is a lesson in creative writing. First rule: Do not use semicolons. They are transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing. All they do is show you’ve been to college.
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And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, ‘If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.
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We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down.
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