“What sort of an age is this where a man becomes one’s enemy only when his back is turned?”

Perhaps its familiarity rendered it temporarily invisible to you.

A screaming comes across the sky.

What are the stars but points in the body of God where we insert the healing needles of our terror and longing?

There was no difference between the behavior of a god and the operations of pure chance.

They plot, they plot, sleeping or afoot they never let up.

Get too conceptual, too cute and remote, and your characters die on the page.

Someday it’ll all be done by machine. Information machines.

The reality is in this head. Mine. I’m the projector at the planetarium, all the closed little universe visible in the circle of that stage is coming out of my mouth, eyes, and sometimes other orifices also.

Real flight and dreams of flight go together. Both are part of the same movement. Not A before B, but all together.

You go from dream to dream inside me. You have passage to my last shabby corner, and there, among the debris, you’ve found life. I’m no longer sure which of all the words, images, dreams or ghosts are ‘yours’ and which are ‘mine.’ It’s past sorting out.

Like so many named places in California it was less an identifiable city than a grouping of concepts–census tracts, special purpose bond-issue districts, shopping nuclei, all overlaid with access roads to its own freeway.

Let me be unambiguous. I prefer not to be photographed.

Let the peace of this day be here tomorrow when I wake up.

If they can get you asking the wrong questions, they don’t have to worry about answers.

Shall I project a world?

There is nothing so loathsome as a sentimental surrealist.

I could always sing, from a really young age, but my voice was really weird. I used to make my mum turn up the radio every day in our house. She was well into music so I got that from her.

I look back and say, “This must have been somebody else.” I am not going to tell you that when I was 4, I dreamed about all of this.

No matter your age, stage of life, or circumstances, don’t forget to dare to dream with God. You don’t have to figure anything out. Just keep saying yes to Him, in big ways and small, and watch what He does.

The secret of a good old age is simply an honorable pact with solitude.

Moses spent forty years thinking he was somebody; forty years learning he was nobody; and forty years discovering what God can do with a nobody.

I feel I can still do the same job as I did 10 years ago – I’ve just got a few more wrinkles!

Guys are kind of retarded until they’re about 30.

In an age so connected why do I feel so far apart?