When the eye fails to find beauty-alias solace-it commands the body to create it, or, failing that, adjusts itself to perceive virtue in ugliness.

Perhaps art is simply an organism's reaction against its retentive limitations.

In the end, like the Almighty Himself, we make everything in our image, for want of a more reliable model; our artifacts tell more about ourselves than our confessions.

Life-the way it really is-is a battle not between Bad and Good, but between Bad and Worse.

Perhaps the best proof of the Almighty's existence is that we never know when we are to die.

I always adhered to the idea that God is time, or at least that His spirit is.

On the whole, love comes with the speed of light; separation, with that of sound.