I Write To Try To Understand, And

The Wisest Man I Ever Knew In My Whole Life Could Not Read Or Write.

Such Is Our Need To Shower Blame On Some Distant Entity When It Is We Who Lack The Courage To Face Up To What Is There Before Us.

It Is Strange How The Elderly Fall Silent When They Ought To Go On Speaking, Obliging The Young To Learn Everything From Scratch.

A Tree Weeps When Cut Down, A Dog Howls When Beaten, But A Man Matures When Offended.

I Consider Books To Be Good For Our Health, And Also Our Spirits, And They Help Us To Become Poets Or Scientists, To Understand The Stars Or Else To Discover Them Deep Within The Aspirations Of Certain Characters, Those Who Sometimes, On Certain Evenings, Escape From The Pages And Walk Among Us Humans, Perhaps The Most Human Of Us All.