There Is Always Room For At Least

The Repeated Lies Become History, But They Don't Necessarily Become The Truth.

We Seldom Know What We're Hearing When We Hear Something For The First Time, But One Thing Is Certain: We Hear It As We Will Never Hear It Again. We Return To The Moment To Experience It, I Suppose, But We Can Never Really Find It, Only Its Memory, The Faintest Imprint Of What Really Was, What It Meant.

People Are Good Or Half Good Or A Quarter Good, And It Changes All The Time- But Even On The Best Day Nobody's Perfect.

Stories Are There To Be Told, And Each Story Changes With The Telling. Time Changes Them. Logic Changes Them. Grammar Changes Them. History Changes Them. Each Story Is Shifted Side-ways By Each Day That Unfolds. Nothing Ends. The Only Thing That Matters, As Faulkner Once Put It, Is The Human Heart In Conflict With Itself. At The Heart Of All This Is The Possibility, Or Desire, To Create A Piece Of Art That Talks To The Human Instinct For Recovery And Joy.

I’m Not Interested In Blind Optimism, But I’m Very Interested In Optimism That Is Hard-won, That Takes On Darkness And Then Says, ‘this Is Not Enough.’ But It Takes Time, More Time Than We Can Sometimes Imagine, To Get There. And Sometimes We Don’t.