There Must Be A Lot Of People

Time's Arrow, We Are Told, Is A One-way Thing. . . Memory's Arrow, Like The Needle Of A Compass Too Close To A Lodestone, Spins In All Directions.

An Ordinary Mirror Is Silvered At The Back But The Window Of The Night Train Has Darkness Behind The Glass. My Face And The Faces Of Other Travellers Were Now Mirrored On This Darkness In A Succession Of Stillnesses. Consider This, Said The Darkness: Any Motion At Any Speed Is A Succession Of Stillnesses; Any Section Through An Action Will Show Just Such A Plane Of Stillness As This Dark Window In Which Your Seeking Face Is Mirrored. And In Each Plane Of Stillness Is The Moment Of Clarity That Makes You Responsible For What You Do.

The Things That Matter Don't Necessarily Make Sense.

And Now It Seems She's On My Wavelength. That's All I Need. My Mind Isn't Much Of A Comfort To Me But At Least I Thought It Was Private.

Life Is A Process Of One Goneness After Another.