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Before I speak, I have something important to say.

One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.

Innocence ends when one is stripped of the delusion that one likes oneself.

We tell ourselves stories in order to live. — The White Album, 1979

For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast. And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest. — So We’ll Go No More a Roving

Life is like Sanskrit read to a pony.

There are a couple of ways to avoid death, one of them is to be magnificent, this is my favourite way.

No one knows what’s next, but everybody does it.

Remember, democracy never lasts long. It soon wastes, exhausts, and murders itself. There never was a democracy yet that did not commit suicide.

There are times, however, and this is one of them when even being right feels wrong. What do you say, for instance, about a generation that has been taught that rain is poison and sex is death? If making love might be fatal and if a cool spring breeze on any summer afternoon can turn […]