Nothing can excel a few days in jail for giving a young man or woman a quick education in the basis of industrial society.
Little boys love machines; girls adore horses; grown-up men and women like to walk.
If the world is irrational, we can never know it -- either it or its irrationality.
Writing on the wall: Will trade three blind crabs for two with no teeth.
Lightning streaks like gunfire through the clouds, volleys of thunder shake the air.
Orthodoxy is a relaxation of the mind accompanied by a stiffening of the heart.
In the afternoon I watch the clouds drift past the bald peak of Mount Tukuhnikivats. (Someone has to do it.)
I always write with my .357 magnum handy. Why? Well, you never know when God may try to interfere.
Beware the writer who always encloses the word *reality* in quotation marks: He's trying to slip something over on you. Or into you.
Life: another day, another dolor.
Though men now possess the power to dominate and exploit every corner of the natural world, nothing in that fact implies that they have the right or the need to do so.
We are befouling and destroying our own home, we are committing a slow but accelerating race suicide and life murder - planetary biocide. Now there is a mighty theme for a mighty book but a challenge to which no modern novelist or poet has yet responded. Where is our Melville, our Milton, our Thomas Mann when we need him most?
We need the possibility of escape as surely as we need hope.
Most of us lead lives of chaotic improvisation from day to day, bawling for peace while plunging grimly into fresh disorders.
So I write mainly for the fun of it, the hell of it, the duty of it. I enjoy writing and will probably be a scribbler on my dying day, sprawled on some stony trail halfway between two dry waterholes.
How could anything non-controversial be of intellectual interest to grown-ups?
I am my brother's keeper, says the chickenshit liberal. Perhaps he does not realize that he now has more than 2 1/2 billion brothers.
The moral duty of the free writer is to begin his work at home: to be a critic of his own community, his own country, his own government, his own culture. The more freedom the writer possesses, the greater the moral obligation to play the role of critic.
A critic is to an author as a fungus to an oak.
Reason has seldom failed us because it has seldom been tried.
The ideal kitchen-sink novel: Throw in everything but the kitchen sink. Then add the kitchen sink.
I would not sacrifice a single living mesquite tree for any book ever written. One square mile of living desert is worth a hundred 'great books' - and one brave deed is worth a thousand.
Simplicity is always a virtue. One kid on a riverbank working out a Stephen Foster tune on his new harmonica heard from the correct esthetic distance projects more magic and power than the entire Vienna Philharmonic and Chorus laboring (once again) through the Mozart Requiem or Bach's B Minor Mass.
Only a fool would leave the enjoyment of rainbows to the opticians. Or give the science of optics the last word on the matter.
Epitaphs for a gravestone: 'Please: no hooliganism'; or 'Es prohibe se hace agua aqui'; or 'No comment'.
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