Autumn Arrives In The Early Morning.

The Silence Of A Shut Park Does Not Sound Like Country Silence: It Is Tense And Confined.

No, It Is Not Only Our Fate But Our Business To Lose Innocence, And Once We Have Lost That, It Is Futile To Attempt A Picnic In Eden.

At The Age Of Twelve I Was Finding The World Too Small: It Appeared To Me Like A Dull, Trim Back Garden, In Which Only Trivial Games Could Be Played.

Karen, Her Elbows Folded On The Deck-rail, Wanted To Share With Someone The Pleasure In Being Alone: This Is The Paradox Of Any Happy Solitude. She Had Never Landed At Cork, So This Hill And That Hill Beyond Were As Unexpected As Pictures At Which You Say "oh Look!" Nobody Was Beside Her To Share The Moment, Which Would Have Been Imperfect With Anyone Else There.

Sacrificers Are Not The Ones To Pity. The Ones To Pity Are Those They Sacrifice.