Love Is, Above All, The Gift Of

Life Isn't What You Think It Is. It's Like Water, And The Young Let It Trickle Away Between Their Fingers Without Even Noticing. Cup Your Hands, Keep It Safe. Life Eventually Becomes Something Else, Something Hard, Something Simple, Something You Can Hold In Your Hand And Nibble On Contentedly As You Sit In The Sun.

Tragedy Is Clean, It Is Restful, It Is Flawless.

A Genius Knows How To Make Himself Easily Understood Without Being Obvious About It.

Have You Noticed That Life, With Murders And Catastrophes And Fabulous Inheritances, Happens Almost Exclusively In Newspapers?

It Is Restful, Tragedy, Because One Knows That There Is No More Lousy Hope Left. You Know You're Caught, Caught At Last Like A Rat With All The World On Its Back. And The Only Thing Left To Do Is Shout - Not Moan, Or Complain, But Yell Out At The Top Of Your Voice Whatever It Was You Had To Say. What You've Never Said Before. What Perhaps You Don't Even Know Till Now.