So Many Things We Love

Certain Springs Are Tapped Only When You're Alone.

Perhaps I Am A Bear, Or Some Hibernating Animal Underneath, For The Instinct To Be Half Asleep All Winter Is So Strong In Me.

A Note Of Music Gains Significance From The Silence On Either Side.

There Comes A Moment When The Things One Has Written, Even A Traveler's Memories, Stand Up And Demand A Justification. They Require An Explanation. They Query, 'who Am I? What Is My Name? Why Am I Here?

For Is It Not Possible That Middle Age Can Be Looked Upon As A Period Of Second Flowering, Second Growth, Even A Kind Of Second Adolescence? It Is True That Society In General Does Not Help One Accept This Interpretation Of The Second Half Of Life.