In Old Age We Are Like A

In Old Age We Are Like A Batch Of Letters That Someone Has Sent. We Are No Longer In The Past, We Have Arrived.

Rather Than Admire The Mediocre Great Men Over Whom Passersby Nudge Each Other In Awe, I Venerate The Young, Unknown Geniuses Who Die In Their Teens, Their Souls Shattered - Delicate, Phosphorescent Glowworms That One Must See To Know They Really Did Exist.

Love Is Every Bit As Violent And Dangerous As Murder.

No, I Don't Admire The Genius. But I Admire And Love The Result Of The Genius's Activity In The World, Of Which The Great Man Is Only The Poor Necessary Tool, Only, So To Speak, The Paltry Awl To Bore With.

Today Riches And Honours Have Been Lavished On Me, But One Gift Has Been Lacking, The Most Important One Of All, The Only One That Matters, The Gift Of Youth.