Why do I write? I write to entertain my friends and to exasperate our enemies. To unfold the folded lie, to record to truth of our time, and, of course, to promote esthetic bliss.

Why do I write? I write to entertain my friends and to exasperate our enemies. To unfold the folded lie, to record to truth of our time, and, of course, to promote esthetic bliss.
Places: a cold, bleak, lonely day on the rim at Muley Point, Utah. And the heart-cracking loveliness of the blood-smeared, bitter, incomprehensible slaughterhouse of a world.
Among politicians and businessman, Pragmatism is the current term for "To hell with our children."
I choose to listen to the river for a while, thinking river thoughts, before joining the night and the stars.
My loyalties will not be bound by national borders, or confined in time by one nation's history, or limited in the spiritual dimension by one language and culture.
Running the big rapids is like sex: half the fun lies in the anticipation. Two thirds of the thrill with the approach. The remainder is only ecstasy-or darkness.
Everyone should learn a manual trade: It's never too late to become an honest person.
How to Avoid Pleurisy: Never make love to a girl named Candy on the tailgate of a half-ton Ford pickup during a chill rain in April out on Grandview Point in San Juan County, Utah.
The industrial corporation is the natural enemy of nature.
Under the desert sun, in the dogmatic clarity, the fables of theology and the myths of classical philosophy dissolve like mist.
How could anything non-controversial be of intellectual interest to grown-ups?
Science transcends mere politics. As recent history demonstrates, scientists are as willing to work for a Tojo, a Hitler, or a Stalin as for the free nations of the West.
I always write with my .357 magnum handy. Why? Well, you never know when God may try to interfere.
I choose to listen to the river for a while, thinking river thoughts, before joining the night and the stars.
Remaining silent about the destruction of nature is an endorsement of that destruction.
Come on in. The earth, like the sun, like the air, belongs to everyone - and to no one.
I'm a fastidious sort of fellow, fond of watermelon and buckbrush nuts.
The best thing about graduating from the university was that I finally had time to sit on a log and read a good book.
I am delighted, one more time, by the daring of my species and the audacity of our flying machines. There is poetry and music in our technology, a beauty as touching as that of eagle, moss campion, raven or yonder limestone boulder shining under the Arctic sun.
One breath of juniper smoke, like the perfume of sagebrush after rain, evokes in magical catalysis, like certain music, the space and light and clarity and piercing strangeness of the American West. Long may it burn.