And At Night I Love To Listen

A Man's Age Is Something Impressive, It Sums Up His Life: Maturity Reached Slowly And Against Many Obstacles, Illnesses Cured, Griefs And Despairs Overcome, And Unconscious Risks Taken; Maturity Formed Through So Many Desires, Hopes, Regrets, Forgotten Things, Loves. A Man's Age Represents A Fine Cargo Of Experience And Memories.

I'll Look As If I'm Dead, And That Won't Be True.' I Said Nothing. 'you Understand. It's Too Far. I Can't Take This Body With Me. It's Too Heavy.' I Said Nothing. 'but It'll Be Like An Old Abandoned Shell. There's Nothing Sad About An Old Shell...' I Said Nothing. 'it'll Be Nice, You Know. I'll Be Looking At The Stars, Too. All The Stars Will Be Wells With A Rusty Pulley. All The Stars Will Pour Out Water For Me To Drink...' I Said Nothing. 'and It'll Be Fun! You'll Have Five-hundred Million Little Bells; I'll Have Five-hundred Million Springs Of Fresh Water...' And He, Too, Said Nothing More.

The Job Has Its Grandeurs, Yes. There Is The Exultation Of Arriving Safely After A Storm, The Joy Of Gliding Down Out Of The Darkness Of Night Or Tempest Toward A Sun-drenched Alicante Or Santiago; There Is The Swelling Sense Of Returning To Repossess One's Place In Life, In The Miraculous Garden Of Earth, Where Are Trees And Women And, Down By The Harbor, Friendly Little Bars. When He Has Throttled His Engine And Is Banking Into The Airport, Leaving The Somber Cloud Masses Behind, What Pilot Does Not Break Into Song?

Grown Ups Are Certainly Very Strange.

A Rock Pile Ceases To Be A Rock Pile The Moment A Single Man Contemplates It, Bearing Within Him The Image Of A Cathedral.