And Though You Think The World Is

What I've Discovered And Really Confirmed To Myself Is That Opera Really Likes Loud Colours, And You Need Something Bold, Something Savage, Unpredictable, Passionate. You Can't Really Run A Two-hour Opera Round Some Muted Murmuring.

The Anticipation And Dread He Felt At Seeing Her Was Also A Kind Of Sensual Pleasure, And Surrounding It, Like An Embrace, Was A General Elation--it Might Hurt, It Was Horribly Inconvenient, No Good Might Come Of It, But He Had Found Out For Himself What It Was To Be In Love, And It Thrilled Him.

All This Happiness On Display Is Suspect... If They Think - And They Could Be Right - That Continued Torture And Summary Executions, Ethnic Cleansing And Occasional Genocide Are Preferable To An Invasion, They Should Be Sombre In Their View.

If Life Was A Dream, Then Dying Must Be The Moment When You Woke Up. It Was So Simple It Must Be True. You Died, The Dream Was Over, You Woke Up. That's What People Meant When They Talked About Going To Heaven. It Was Like Waking Up.

She Loved Him, Though Not At This Particular Moment.