I did not tell Fat this, but technically he had become a Buddha. It did not seem to me like a good idea to let him know. After all, if you are a Buddha you should be able to figure it out for yourself.
You must beware of seeing malice behind accidental injury.
You’re killing yourself with cynicism. Your idols got taken away from you one by one and now you have nothing to give your love to.
The Empire is the institution, the codification, of derangement; it is insane and imposes its insanity on us by violence, since its nature is a violent one.
The cries of the dead are terrible indeed; you should try not to hear them.
I have seen myself backward.
You know how people are about not taking care of an animal; they consider it immoral and antiempathic. I mean, technically it’s not a crime like it was right after WWT but the feeling’s still there...
I’m a strange person. Sometimes I hardly know what I’m going to do or say next. Sometimes I seem a stranger to myself. Sometimes what I do surprises me and I can’t understand why I do it.
Death hides within every religion. And at any time it can flash forth-not with healing in its wings but with poison, with that which wounds.
Little kids are that way; they feel if their parents aren’t watching what they do then what they do isn’t real.
God can be good and terrible-not in succession-but at the same time. This is why we seek a mediator between us and him; we approach him through the mediating priest and attenuate and enclose him through the sacraments. It is for our own safety: to trap him within confines which render him safe.
I think great art should play a part in the ordinary man’s life, don’t you? It can make his existence so much richer and more meaningful.
Madness, like small fish, runs in hosts, in vast numbers of instances.
And of course, in my writing, there is the constant theme of music, love of, preoccupation with, music. Music is the single thread making my life into a coherency.
We have entered a Moment when we are alone. We cannot get assistance, as before. Well, Mr. Tagomi thought, perhaps that too is good. Or can be made good. One must still try to find the Way.
Fish cannot carry guns.
The hell with the newspapers. Nobody reads the letters to the editor column except the nuts. It’s enough to get you down.
Are we to assist it in gaining power in order to save our lives? Is that the paradox of our earthly situation?
The church of my choice is the free, open world.
The unconscious is selective, when it learns what to listen for.