All of these are names given me by other people, but not names I would have given myself. My name is not mine, it’s theirs. It’s a series of costumes put on my life by other people.
I think my writing is part of my ministry.
I don’t think there is a hidden purpose to the universe that you have to puzzle out.
My secret agenda is to convey my values to my kids.
Children are sent to school to be civilized, to learn to be part of the social enterprise.
Clean up your own mess.
I’ve always made a clear distinction between making a life and making a living.
To be human is to keep rattling the bars of the cage of existence, hollering, ‘What’s it for?’
Why is love easy? I don’t know. And the raccoons don’t say.
I get tired of hearing it’s a crummy world and that people are no damned good. What kind of talk is that? I know a place in Payette, Idaho, where a cook and a waitress and a manager put everything they’ve got into laying a chicken-fried steak on you.
The point is that getting married for lust or money or social status or even love is usually trouble. The point is that marriage is a maze into which we wander – a maze that is best got through with a great companion.
I’d like to speak a foreign language well enough to get the jokes. I’d like to talk with Socrates, and watch Michelangelo sculpt David. I’d like to see the world as it was a million years ago and a million years hence.
The name is not important anymore – it’s the tone that counts. I feel like an old dog I know. He will come to any name you call him, just so long as your demeanor carries with it the promise of affection and food.
One of life’s best coping mechanisms is to know the difference between an inconvenience and a problem.
Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup-they all die. So do we.
Always trust your fellow man. And always cut the cards. Always trust God. And always build your house on high ground. Always love thy neighbor. And always pick a good neighborhood to live in.
There is nothing in your budget for joy. No books, no flowers, no music, not even a cold beer. And there is nothing in your budget to give away to someone else. We don’t help people who don’t have better values than you do.
And I’m not confused about the lack of, or the need for, imagination in low or high places. We could do better we must do better. There are far worse things to drop on people than crayolas.
And good neighbors make a huge difference in the quality of life. I agree.
And sure, I know if you eat this way you’ll die. So? If you don’t eat this way you’re still going to die. Why not die happy?
You can’t always explain everything you do to everybody, you know.