Do Not Deprive Me Of My Age.

What We Have Not Has Made Us What We Are. / ... / What We Are Not Drives Us To Consummation.

It Always Comes Back To The Same Necessity: Go Deep Enough And There Is A Bedrock Of Truth, However Hard.

At Any Moment Solitude May Put On The Face Of Loneliness.

A Body Without Bones Would Be A Limp Impossible Mess, So A Day Without Steady Routine Would Be Disruptive And Chaotic.

It Is, I Assume, Quite Easy To Wither Into Old Age, And Hard To Grow Into It.