The Silence Is Perfect, And Yet A

The Larger Loneliness Of Our Lives Evolves From Our Unwillingness To Spend Ourselves, Stir Ourselves. We Are Always Damping Down Our Inner Weather, Permitting Ourselves The Comforts Of Postponement, Of Rehearsals

Write The Book You Want To Read, The One You Cannot Find.

It's The Arrangement Of Events Which Makes The Stories. It's Throwing Away, Compressing, Underlining. Hindsight Can Give Structure To Anything, But You Have To Be Able To See It. Breathing, Waking And Sleeping: Our Lives Are Steamed And Shaped Into Stories. Knowing That Is What Keeps Me From Going Insane, And Though I Don't Like To Admit It, Sometimes It's The Only Thing.

A Childhood Is What Anyone Wants To Remember Of It. It Leaves Behind No Fossils, Except Perhaps In Fiction.

In A Long And Healthy Life, Which Is What Most Of Us Have, There Is Plenty Of Time.