I haven't been part of the criminal world.

I am influenced by books which don't have their eye on the endgame, but which try to be entertaining on each and every page.

We drank for another hour and I mutilated many of my most coherent thoughts by putting them into words.

People trust too much in themselves. What they take for truth, they let rule their lives, and if I set out to find a way to live so I will be in control of my life, then I actually lose control, because the thing I have decided on, my truth, becomes the ruler and I become it’s servant. And how can I be free to evolve if I’m submitting myself to a ruler, any ruler, even if that ruler is me?

As I left my cab in the traffic jam, the driver made it clear he didn’t like it that I was ending our relationship so unexpectedly.

Tell me, sonny, what do you think makes good army material?” the recruiting officer asked. “Light cotton?

There’s nothing I would do again the same, and if given the opportunity, I would decline the opportunity.

Then I started thinking about tears. What was evolution up to when it rendered the human body incapable of concealing sadness? Is it somehow crucial to the survival of the species that we can’t hide our melancholy? Why? What’s the evolutionary benefit of crying? To elicit sympathy? Does evolution have a Machiavellian streak?

I couldn’t help but be impressed. If you knew how hard these bastards worked, you’d never say anything negative about privilege again, and you wouldn’t even want it for yourself.

I had begun to perceive my genitals as imaginary beasts in some epic fourteenth-century Scottish poem.