Rocks are more co-operative than people.

There should be a connection between a man’s hairstyle and what matters to him in life.

You don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground, you know that?

In our lifetimes, we can only know a small portion of what exists. The world is endless and its treasures are inexhaustible.

But once you describe something, you destroy it.

This man of his, yes, this man. Now Sam accepts his own desire. “I’m a gayrod,” he shouts marching through crowded plazas. “I’m in love with a man, and I want men. That’s what I want. I want man, man, man!

He didn’t realise that all bodies – men’s and women’s – are fragile and must be handled gently so as not to hurt the people living inside them.

Penises, toe knuckles, bellybuttons, vaginas. Sam felt the expansiveness of his own desires as he sensed, stretching away on all sides of him, an endless forest of jutting elbows, erect penises, stiff nostril hairs, clitoral flaps, quivering eyelids, testicles round as ice cream scoops, and pert feisty nipples – a wonderful wilderness he could get lost in and explore for the rest of his life.

Wind is what happens when air falls in love with itself.

Lo, each subculture has its own language, and verily I am not a parody. You don’t believe me? Get with the program, crackpot!