The World Is Beautiful But Not Sayable.

The Truth Is Dark Under Your Eyelids.

If I Believe In Anything, It Is In The Dark Night Of The Soul. Awe Is My Religion, And Mystery Is Its Church.

Here Is Something We Can All Count On. Sooner Or Later Our Tribe Always Comes To Ask Us To Agree To Murder.

The Plain Truth Is We Are Going To Die. Here I Am, A Teeny Spec Surrounded By Boundless Space And Time, Arguing With The Whole Of Creation, Shaking My Fist, Sputtering, Growing Even Eloquent At Times, And Then-poof! I Am Gone. Swept Off Once And For All. I Think That Is Very, Very Funny.

I Was Already Dozing Off In The Shade, Dreaming That The Rustling Trees Were My Many Selves Explaining Themselves All At The Same Time So That I Could Not Make Out A Single Word. My Life Was A Beautiful Mystery On The Verge Of Understanding, Always On The Verge! Think Of It!