The Only Reason I Wanted 'making Toast'

One Senses, In All Autobiography, A Straining Toward Perfection, Perfection Of A Kind That Connects The Individual With A Cosmic Pattern Which, Because It Is Perfect In Itself, Verifies That Individuals Own Potential Perfection.

Anytime You Make A Person Into Something Other Than Himself, You Make A Monster.

One Of The Very Important Things That Have To Be Learned Around The Time Dying Becomes A Real Prospect Is To Recognize Those Occasions When We Have Been Useful In The World.

Every Writing Teacher Gives The Subliminal Message, Every Time They Teach: 'your Life Counts For Something.' In No Other Subject That I Know Of Is That Message Given.

Slum Kids Die Slowly, Their Lives Eroded At So Languid A Pace That Even They Would Have Trouble Tracing The Disintegration. To The Children Of War Death Explodes Like A Car Bomb.