They are stories I wrote because my friends are gone, a lot of them, and if you can’t be angry about it, how the hell much did you care to begin with? - Harlan Ellison

Too many of our insanities are tolerated because they are harmless on an individual level — but multiply them by a millionfold and you have a nation that is culturally sick. These things stem from each individual’s conception of himself — which he arbitrarily assumes to be the nature of the world as well. These conceptions are haphazardly picked up during youth — along with all of the other opinions, neuroses, hangups and etceteras common to the human animal.

He was a very nice person. History has no record of him. There is a moral in that, somewhere.

Michelangelo gave them each a shove. Off the short dock. They sank without a ripple, borne to the infinite bottom by the weight of their severity, the heft of their sententiousness, the freighting of pecksniffian nit-picking that stuffed their otherwise wooly heads. They went straight to the bottom, wherever that was, down and down, leaving behind only a funnel of bubbles, the last of the hot air they contained.