I'll Never Retire. They'll Have

It's Almost As If We're Put Here On Earth To Show How Silly They Aren't.

Words Have A Life; Without Response They Die.

Sometimes There's Nothing But Sundays For Weeks On End. Why Can't They Move Sunday To The Middle Of The Week So You Could Put It In The Out Tray On Your Desk?

A Map Is The Dead Body Of Where You've Been. A Map Is The Unborn Baby Of Where You're Going. There Are No Maps. Maps Are Pictures Of What Isn't.

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.