Facts Are Lonely Things.

Let's Enjoy The Aimless Days While We Still Can.

It Was The Time Of Year, The Time Of Day, For A Small Insistent Sadness To Pass Into The Texture Of Things. Dusk, Silence, Iron Chill. Something Lonely In The Bone.

Ecology Is Boring For The Same Reason That Destruction Is Fun.

Maybe When We Die, The First Thing We'll Say Is 'i Know This Feeling. I Was Here Before'.

Doesn't Seem Quite Real. It's Not Meaningful. I Can't Quite Imagine Myself Being 73. That's The Age My Father Was! [laughter.] How Can I Be His Age? It's Weird.