Words Have A Life; Without

Fidelity Is A Matter Of Perception; Nobody Is Unfaithful To The Sea Or To Mountains Or To Death: Once Recognized They Fill The Heart.

I Believe That Most Of Us Would Like To Be Thought Well Of By Horses.

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.

Too-lateness, I Realized, Has Nothing To Do With Age. It’s A Relation Of Self To The Moment. Or Not, Depending On The Person And The Moment. Perhaps There Even Comes A Time When It’s No Longer Too Late For Anything. Perhaps, Even, Most Times Are Too Early For Most Things, And Most Of Life Has To Go By Before It’s Time For Almost Anything And Too Late For Almost Nothing. Nothing To Lose, The Present Moment To Gain, The Integration With Long-delayed Now.

Them As Counts Counts Moren Them As Dont Count