Maybe There Are Only Three Kinds Of

We Disliked The Rigours Of Existence, The Unfulfilled Longings, The Enshrined Injustices Of The World, The Labyrinths Of Love, The Ignorance Of Parents, The Fact Of Dying, And The Amazing Indifference Of The Living In The Midst Of The Simple Beauties Of The Universe. We Feared The Heartlessness Of Human Beings, All Of Whom Are Born Blind, Few Of Whom Ever Learn To See.

A Man Must Be Able To Hold His Drink Because Drunkenness Is Sometimes Necessary In This Difficult Life.

We Have Not Yet Arrived, But Every Point At Which We Stop Requires A Re-definition Of Our Destination.

Stories Are The Secret Reservoir Of Values: Change The Stories Individuals And Nations Live By And Tell Themselves, And You Change The Individuals And Nations.

There Is A Kind Of Expressed Love Which Is Easy To Subvert. When A Figure Is Loved For Their Deeds, Their Conquests, Their Heroism, Their Goodness, Their Love Of The People, These Are Easy Enough To Destroy... But There Is A Kind Of Love Which Is Felt For Apparently No Reason... A Love, Inspired, It Seems, By The Gods, Which It Is Impossible To Fight, Distort, Destroy, Or Weaken. In Fact, The Attempts To Destroy Such Loves Only Strengthen Them. And To Do Nothing Allows Them To Continue To Grow At Their Natural Pace, Inexoribly, Till This Love Becomes A Wide And Silent Adoration.