Because of my Marxism, I was not into myths or miracles, whether it was the virgin birth, the physical resurrection or casting out demons from an epileptic.

For some years I deserted religion in favour of Marxism. The republic of goodness seemed more attainable than the Kingdom of God.

My mother enjoyed old age, and because of her I've begun to enjoy parts of it too. So far I've had it good and am crumbling nicely.

I am pleased now that I have lived in a gay as well as a religious ghetto, though it hasn't been very comfortable. Taken together, their limitations cancel each other out and I have seen the world more kindly and more honestly.

Experience and miracle are two agents crafted with different names and meanings, yet express the exact same nature. It takes a miracle to gap experience. It takes experience to close the wall of a miracle. In the end, the only real difference...is skill.

It is not more surprising to be born twice than once; everything in nature is resurrection