He did it because he could not help himself, which explains everything and nothing

The winds of grace are blowing all the time, but it is you that must raise your sails.

When I stand before thee at the day's end, thou shalt see my scars and know that I had my wounds and also my healing.

Colorful characters are the odd shaped pieces that fill the holes in life's puzzle.

In the nineteenth century, The Romantics viewed Nature as benign, a glowing reflection of God's grace. Now we know better. Nature is brutal and, if it is feminine, she's not the kind of woman you can trust. Human beings may be her finest achievement yet, but when you get right down to brass tacks, we're meat. AIDS and organisms like streptococcus don't give a crap that we subdued the earth or produced a Shakespeare...

I have before suggested that a genuine blackguard is never without a pocket-handkerchief.