To measure up takes skill, but to err is an art.

Cockroach: What is war?
Man: How we lost the human race.

When a scientist splits an atom, the event is locked away like a jewel in a castle, funneling down to the public through a myriad of institutions. But when an artist stumbles upon the key to unleashing universal evil, the forbidden fruit of his painstaking labor is packaged and sold at every corner store from Bangor to Bangkok. I’m still unsure whether this is the result of a lack of respect for artists (compared to scientists) or the moral corruption of artists (compared to scientists).

Most parents are so convinced of their little darling’s innocence that, by proxy, in rallying for junior’s purity they come to believe in their own innocence—as if duplicating oneself will make a right!

The hermit is he who needs a friend, and in the absence of a community has befriended himself.

Identity seems to be non-existent at a personal level—at best we can end up in a minority, and those who discuss it most are just those people who are aware of its absence in themselves.