Religion, our great neurosis. This temple, our great anchor.

Civilization, not the result of rational plotting, but beautiful, horrible compulsion. Humans as manic obsessives, incessantly planning, calculating, measuring, recording, projecting, estimating.

Witness culture, art. Someone once remarked that we prefer not even to consider how closely the practice of writing, especially fiction writing, resembles mental illness, with the creator sitting alone for days, months, years, muttering to himself, conjecturing "plots."

See also, sort of: World of Path, Orson Scott Card.

What's wrong with being neurotic? Bullshitting bullshitter here.