The Recounting Of A Life

Happiness Is The Lucky Pane Of Glass You Carry In Your Head. It Takes All Your Cunning Just To Hang On To It, And Once It's Smashed You Have To Move Into A Different Sort Of Life.

Anyone's Childhood Can Be An Act Of Disablement If Rehearsed And Replayed And Squinted At In A Certain Light. . .

In A Long And Healthy Life, Which Is What Most Of Us Have, There Is Plenty Of Time.

Eventually, Everything Gets Stuck Between A Pair Of Parentheses Or Buried In The Bottom Of A Trunk.

The Larger Loneliness Of Our Lives Evolves From Our Unwillingness To Spend Ourselves, Stir Ourselves. We Are Always Damping Down Our Inner Weather, Permitting Ourselves The Comforts Of Postponement, Of Rehearsals