If There Were One More Thing I

It Is When People Are Told Their Own Thoughts That They Think They Are Being Insulted.

The Cicada Sing An Endless Song In The Long Grass, Smells Run Along The Earth And Falling Stars Run Over The Sky, Like Tears Over A Cheek. You Are The Privileged Person To Whom Everything Is Taken. The Kings Of Tarshish Shall Bring Gifts.

When We Are Young The Idea Of Death Or Failure Is Intolerable To Us; Even The Possibility Of Ridicule We Cannot Bear. But We Have Also An Unconquerable Faith In Our Own Stars, And In The Impossibility Of Anything Venturing To Go Against Us. As We Grow Old We Slowly Come To Believe That Everything Will Turn Out Badly For Us, And That Failure Is In The Nature Of Things, But Then We Do Not Much Mind What Happens To Us One Way Or The Other. In This Way A Balance Is Obtained.

I Do Not Know If You Remember The Tale Of The Girl Who Saves The Ship Under Mutiny By Sitting On The Powder Barrel With Her Lighted Torch... And All The Time Knowing That It Is Empty? This Has Seemed To Me A Charming Image Of The Women Of My Time. There They Were, Keeping The World In Order... By Sitting On The Mystery Of Life, And Knowing Themselves That There Was No Mystery.

I Had A Farm In Africa, At The Foot Of The Ngong Hills.