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My Father Ran London Films. He Made Films Like 'the Red Shoes,' 'the Third Man.' And He Had Had A Long Career In The Film Business, Which Was Bifurcated With A Career In Intelligence. He Had To Deal With Gangsters, And Sometimes He Would Take Me With Him. Also, I Went To School With Their Children.

Heavy Blizzards Start As A Gentle And Persistent Snow.

He Knew Very Well That Love Could Be Like The Most Beautiful Singing, That It Could Make Death Inconsequential, That It Existed In Forms So Pure And Strong That It Was Capable Of Reordering The Universe. He Knew This, And That He Lacked It, And Yet As He Stood In The Courtyard Of The Palazzo Venezia, Watching Diplomats File Quietly Out The Gate, He Was Content, For He Suspected That To Command The Profoundest Love Might In The End Be Far Less Beautiful A Thing Than To Suffer Its Absence.

Lonely People Have Enthusiasms Which Cannot Always Be Explained. When Something Strikes Them As Funny, The Intensity And Length Of Their Laughter Mirrors The Depth Of Their Loneliness, And They Are Capable Of Laughing Like Hyenas. When Something Touches Their Emotions, It Runs Through Them Like Paul Revere, Awakening Feelings That Gather Into Great Armies.

One Is Attracted To Beauty. Beauty Is The Coordination Of Things, In Such A Way, That It Is What Attracts You. It's Almost Self-defining.