Another day on earth;
pray for mercy and hope for the best.

This just in: internet preferable to all previous human endeavor.

The universe deposits money in our accounts every day, in the form of reality.

Affliction and disease present the greatest advertising opportunity in the history of mankind.

In LA the bottom finally dropped out—a numbing sequence of brilliant days, synaptic movies printed on his retinas, but underneath, blackness. He’d read somewhere that the self was an illusion. This was good news.

When you have gone through all the layers of the self, its inmost nature, its essence, is nothing. You are nothing.
K., Public Talk 5, Madras (Chennai), 7 January 1978
He stood at the back window he had photographed a thousand times, without having really been there at all. Somehow, his fear had evaporated, and despite the knowledge that it might return at any time, he was grateful.

For the first time this morning all three of my crumpled kleenex reached the trash can on the other side of the bed. Maybe this will be the day things finally start to turn around.

A vulgar preference for the novel over the good.

These are the facts. These are the trees. You are the wind.

In the daytime you cling to life with fierce desperation, but you often go to bed not caring if you ever wake up.

Why did we try so hard, why did we care? We never learned to play the game. We didn’t even know there was a game.

Hope is not your friend.