People Write To Me All The Time

It Was As If This Night Were Only One Of Thousands Of Nights, World Without End, Night Curving Into Night To Make A Great Arching Line Of Which I Couldn’t See The End, A Night In Which I Roamed Alone Under Cold, Mindless Stars.

When I Realized That Reuben Was A Young Man Who Really Wanted To Be Taken Seriously, Because He Was Dismissed For Being Too Good Looking Or Because He Had Too Much Money - His Character Really Came To Life For Me. I Began To Understand That, And See That A Lot Of People Feel This Way - Misunderstood Because Of Their Talents Or Gifts Or Background.

I'm Hoping What All Sentient Beings Hope ... That Somehow I'm Part Of Something Larger Than Myself, In Which I Play A Role, An Actual Role That Is Somehow Intended And Meaningful.

You Have Made Me Ashamed Of The Wasted Years. You Have Made Me Acknowledge That No Darkness Has Ever Been Deep Enough To Extinguish My Personal Knowledge Of Love. And All Around Me In This World I See Evidence Of Love. I See Love. I See It In The Human Struggle. I See Its Undeniable Penetration In All That Humans Have Accomplished In Their Poetry, Their Painting, Their Music, Their Love Of One Another And Refusal To Accept Suffering As Their Lot.

It's An Awful Truth That Suffering Can Deepen Us, Give A Greater Lustre To Our Colours, A Richer Resonance To Our Words. That Is, If It Doesn't Destroy Us, If It Doesn't Burn Away The Optimism And The Spirit, The Capacity For Visions, And The Respect For Simple Yet Indispensable Things.