So now, how did God produce this world?. . . The fable is that he breathed upon us. In his breath, his wind, came moisture and things began to grow. . . a message of hope. Nothing physical. How do you intend for your breath to become a work of art? The only way I can see it is that you prevent your breath from becoming a structure. As soon as your breath takes on the form of a room, you are a carpenter; you're not God.
I think I can do more inside the Republican Party to keep it in the center of the road. That's where Eisenhower was. And I'm an unabashed Eisenhower Republican.