I believe in political solutions to political problems. But man’s primary problems aren’t political; they’re philosophical. Until humans can solve their philosophical problems, they’re condemned to solve their political problems over and over and over again. It’s a cruel, repetitious bore.
Personally, I prefer Stevie Wonder, confessed the Chink, but what the hell. Those cowgirls are always bitching because the only radio station in the area plays nothing but polkas, but I say you can dance to anything if you really feel like dancing. To prove it, he got up and danced to the news.
There are two kinds of people in this world: Those who believe there are two kinds of people in this world and those who are smart enough to know better.
The highest function of love is that it makes the loved one a unique and irreplacable being.
Our great human adventure is the evolution of consciousness. We are in this life to enlarge the soul, liberate the spirit, and light up the brain.
In the haunted house of life, art is the only stair that doesn’t creak.
Our lives are not as limited as we think they are; the world is a wonderfully weird place; consensual reality is significantly flawed; no institution can be trusted, but love does work; all things are possible; and we all could be happy and fulfilled if we only had the guts to be truly free and the wisdom to shrink our egos and quit taking ourselves so damn seriously.
Death is impatient and thoughtless. It barges into your room when you are right in the middle of something, and it doesn’t bother to wipe its boots.
When humans were young, they were pushed around in strollers. When they were old, they were pushed around in wheelchairs. In between, they were just pushed around.
Time passed. Art came off the walls and turned into ritual. Ritual became religious. Religion spawned science. Science led to big business. And big business, if it continues on its present mindless, voracious trajectory, could land those of us lucky enough to survive its ultimate legacy back into caves again.
We waste time looking for the perfect lover, instead of creating the perfect love.
He was becoming unstuck, he was sure of that – his bones were no longer wrapped in flesh but in clouds of dust, in hummingbirds, dragonflies, and luminous moths – but so perfect was his equilibrium that he felt no fear. He was vast, he was many, he was dynamic, he was eternal.
Those who shun the whimsy of things will experience rigor mortis before death.
There are many things worth living for, a few things worth dying for, and nothing worth killing for.
To wit: actions, like sounds, divide the flow of time into beats.[…]The quality of a man’s life depends on the rhyhmic structure he is able to impose upon the input and output of energy.
…disbelief in magic can force a poor soul into believing in government and business….