…my Solitude Is My Treasure, The Best

Cyclists. I Really Hate Them. I Wish They Would Not Be So Self-righteous And Realise They Are A Danger To Pedestrians. I Wish Cyclists Would Not Vindictively Snap Off Wing Mirrors On Cars When They Were Trying To Cross In Front Of The Car At A Danger To Motorists And Pedestrians.

Ice Burns, And It Is Hard To The Warm-skinned To Distinguish One Sensation, Fire, From The Other, Frost.

Narration Is As Much A Part Of Human Nature As Breath And The Circulation Of The Blood.... Storytelling Is Intrinsic To Biological Time, Which We Cannot Escape. Life, Pascal Said, Is Like Living In A Prison From Which Every Day Fellow Prisoners Are Taken Away To Be Executed. We Are All, Like Scheherazade, Under Sentence Of Death, And We All Think Of Our Lives As Narratives, With Beginnings, Middles And Ends.

…my Solitude Is My Treasure, The Best Thing I Have.

That Is Human Nature, That People Come After You, Willingly Enough, Provided Only That You No Longer Love Or Want Them.