I turn sentences around. That's my life. I write a sentence and then I turn it around. Then I look at it and I turn it around again. Then I have lunch. Then I come back in and write another sentence. Then I have tea and turn the new sentence around. Then I read the two sentences over and turn them both around. Then I lie down on my sofa and think. Then I get up and throw them out and start from the beginning. And if I knock off from this routine for as long as a day, I'm frantic with boredom and a sense of waste.

If brainstorming becomes 'blamestorming' by reason of time pressure or on account of pure laziness, the truth may be assaulted and unyieldingly vilified . Blamestorming becomes then downright a perfidious appeal to scapegoating with a torrent of frantic manhunts for 'culprits on duty'. ('Blamestorming')

If life were a river, I'd drift, enjoy, and occasionally be frantically paddling against the current.

If you've a notion of what man's heart is, wouldn't you say that maybe the whole effort of man on earth to build a civilization is simply man's frantic and frightened attempt to hide himself from himself? That there is a part of man that man wants to reject? That man wants to keep from knowing what he is? That he wants to protect himself from seeing that he is something awful? And that this 'awful' part of himself might not be as awful as he thinks, but he finds it too strange and he does not know what to do with it? We talk about what to do with the atom bomb...But man's heart, his spirit is the deadliest thing in creation. Are not all cultures and civilizations just screens which men have used to divide themselves, to put between that part of themselves which they are afraid of and that part of themselves which they wish, in their deep timidity, to try to preserve? Are not all of man's efforts at order an attempt to still man's fear of himself?

Jane, be still; don't struggle so like a wild, frantic bird, that is rending its own plumage in its desperation.

For a long time I thought I could deal with my anger and hostility on my own. But I couldn't. I denied that it had affected me and yet I was so frantic on the inside with other people: I needed to be constantly reassured.

For so long as the Jew has even one ally he will be convinced - in his smallness of mind - that his salvation came from that ally. It is only when he is alone - against all of his own efforts and frantic attempts - that he will through no choice be compelled to turn to G-d.