If there were a party of those who aren't sure they're right$$$ I'd belong to it.
Mostly$$$ I could tell$$$ I made him feel uncomfortable. He didn't understand me$$$ and he was sort of holding it against me. I felt the urge to reassure him that I was like everybody else$$$ just like everybody else. But really there wasn't much point$$$ and I gave up the idea out of laziness.
Our actual ultimate root is in our humanity$$$ not in our personal genealogy.
To translate knowledge and information into experience: that seems to be the function of literature and art.
A mythological image that has to be explained to the brain is not working.
Sentiment is an echo of violence. It's not really a vital expression.
Privation and suffering alone open the mind to all that is hidden to others.
The creative act is not hanging on$$$ but yielding to a new creative movement. Awe is what moves us forward.
Hope is not a strategy. Luck is not a factor. Fear is not an option.
Life is nothing but trading smells.