“Our steel-tipped step-ladder arrows will let us rescue that injured stork that settled down on top of the obelisk and can't fly away!”

“Remember the Wizard Archer's drill arrows that rescued the entombed miners? Well, we're drilling holes in your swiss cheese building to rescue you from a costly boner!”

“We're neither pure, nor wise, nor goodWe'll do the best we know.We'll build our house and chop our woodAnd make our garden grow.And make our garden grow!”

“Michael writes of sun, but all I can think of is sunsickness, too much in the sun never a daughter. As if God's light still shone on we who have shaded our eyes. A few phrases remain but the drift is vanish. No way out and no way in--a straight call to blast, Adrift on stage for all to view--the cringe, the sigh, the curveilinear clide. The scholar-trancemaker hangs from the end of a trope and asks to be cut down. An umbilical cord signifies no less. Yet despite, i can now see or is it all a mitake? & does it splatter?”

“There aren't many clean places left in this dirty world of ours.”

“This will be our reply to violence:to make music more intensely,more beautifully,more devotedly than ever before.”

“We are in the process of creating what deserves to be called the idiot culture. Not an idiot sub-culture, which every society has bubbling beneath the surface and which can provide harmless fun; but the culture itself. For the first time, the weird and the stupid and the coarse are becoming our cultural norm, even our cultural ideal.”