Ambiguity is in our nature. People are concrescences of ambiguity.

Ambiguity is the devil's volleyball.

Ambiguity is a loss of any sensitivity to the distinction between genuine understanding and superficial chatter.

Ambiguity is a form of inauthenticity (structured temporally by the present) characterized by the inability to tell what is idle talk or mere curiosity, and what is indeed deep.

Anonymity is suspect — credible people sign their work.

Anonymity is cowardly — an anonymous pen is a coward's weapon, which stabs in the dark.

Anonymity is a shield from the tyranny of the majority.

Anonymity is often a ruse. An anonymous gift is a donation by someone who hopes everyone will find out without his telling them.

Chaos is what erupts when he-who-lives-in-a-glass-house invites he-who-is-without-sin for dinner.

Chaos is is, in its positive guise, possibility itself, the source of ideas, the mysterious realm of gestation and birth.

Chaos is is, as the unknown, symbolically associated with the feminine. This is partly because all the things we have come to know were born, originally, of the unknown, just as all beings we encounter were born of mothers.

Chaos is is, along with order, the components of the eternal, transcendent environment of the living.

Clutter is found in so many shapes and sizes. We can find it on our kitchen tables, under our beds, in our cars, and in our heads.

Clutter is a weight that has built on top of you so gradually, you don't even realize anymore that it is holding you down.

Clutter is the disease of American writing. We are a society strangling in unnecessary words, circular constructions, pompous frills and meaningless jargon.