Blessed are they that mourn$$$ for they shall be comforted.

The natural condition is one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster. Strangely enough it all works out in the end... It's a mystery.

We're better at predicting events at the edge of the galaxy or inside the nucleus of an atom than whether it'll rain on auntie's garden party three Sundays from now.

Hotel rooms inhabit a separate moral universe.

All your life you live so close to truth$$$ it becomes a permanent blur in the corner of your eye$$$ and when something nudges it into outline it is like being ambushed by a grotesque.

It's the best possible time to be alive$$$ when almost everything you thought you knew is wrong.

For life be$$$ after all$$$ only a waitin' for somethin' else than what we're doin'; and death be all that we can rightly depend on.

We are tied down to a language which makes up in obscurity what it lacks in style.

It is a defect of God's humor that he directs our hearts everywhere but to those who have a right to them.

Eternity is a terrible thought. I mean$$$ where's it going to end?