Every Junkie, He Thought, Is A Recording.

There Is No Route Out Of The Maze. The Maze Shifts As You Move Through It, Because It Is Alive.

Maybe I'll Go Where I Can See Stars, He Said To Himself As The Car Gained Velocity And Altitude; It Headed Away From San Francisco, Toward The Uninhabited Desolation To The North. To The Place Where No Living Thing Would Go. Not Unless It Felt That The End Had Come.

It's Easy To Win. Anybody Can Win.

Drug Misuse Is Not A Disease, It Is A Decision, Like The Decision To Step Out In Front Of A Moving Car. You Would Call That Not A Disease But An Error Of Judgment.

The Bird Is Gone, And In What Meadow Does It Now Sing?