We already have the statistics for the future: the growth percentages of pollution, overpopulation, desertification. The future is already in place.

The human head is bigger than the globe. It conceives itself as containing more. It can think and rethink itself and ourselves from any desired point outside the gravitational pull of the earth. It starts by writing one thing and later reads itself as something else. The human head is monstrous.

We already have the statistics for the future: the growth percentages of pollution, overpopulation, desertification. The future is already in place.

Believing: it means believing in our own lies. And I can say that I am grateful that I got this lesson very early.

Art is so wonderfully irrational, exuberantly pointless, but necessary all the same. Pointless and yet necessary, that's hard for a puritan to understand.

I shall speak of how melancholy and utopia preclude one another. How they fertilize one another... of the revulsion that follows one insight and precedes the next... of superabundance and surfeit. Of stasis in progress. And of myself, for whom melancholy and utopia are heads and tails of the same coin.