...to Be Paid For One's Joy Is

Of Course, You Would Have To Be Insane To Hope Your Child Grows Up To Be A Playwright Or Poet. Given The Odds, You Would Have To Be Quite Cavalier About Your Children's Future.

I Have Seen Lonely People Of Advancing Age, Yet As Constant As Angels, Keeping Faith To Those They Loved Who Fell In Wars That Current Generations, Not Having Known Them, Cannot Even Forget. The Sight Of Them Moving Hesitantly Among The Tablets And Crosses Is Enough To Break Your Heart.

Perhaps Things Are Most Beautiful When They Are Not Quite Real; When You Look Upon A Scene As An Outsider, And Come To Possess It In Its Entirety And Forever; When You Live In The Present With The Lucidity And Feeling Of Memory; When, For Want Of Connection, The World Deepens And Becomes Art.

He Could Say Nothing. He Had No Right To Be There, He Had Already Been Profoundly Changed, He Was No Good At Small Talk, She Was Half Naked, It Was Dawn And He Loved Her.

When Faced With Something I Fear, I Tend To Eat Spaghetti.