There Was A Time When Time Did

As The Years Pass, The Number Of Those We Can Communicate With Diminishes. When There Is No Longer Anyone To Talk To, At Last We Will Be As We Were Before Stooping To A Name.

I Do Nothing, Granted. But I See The Hours Pass - Which Is Better Than Trying To Fill Them.

On Creating — What We Crave, What We Want To See In Others Eyes, Is That Servile Expression, An Unconcealed Infatuation With Our Gestures.

Old Age, After All, Is Merely The Punishment For Having Lived.

If There Is Anyone Who Owes Everything To Bach, It Is Certainly God.