The Wind Makes You Ache Is Some

Your First Impulse Is To Share Good News, Your Second Is To Club Someone With It.

The Late Afternoon Sunlight, Warm As Oil, Sweet As Childhood.

Talent Renders The Whole Idea Of Rehearsal Meaningless; When You Find Something At Which You Are Talented, You Do It (whatever It Is) Until Your Fingers Bleed Or Your Eyes Are Ready To Fall Out Of Your Head. Even When No One Is Listening (or Reading Or Watching), Every Outing Is A Bravura Performance, Because You As The Creator Are Happy. Perhaps Even Ecstatic.

Only Enemies Speak The Truth; Friends And Lovers Lie Endlessly, Caught In The Web Of Duty.

Go Now. Our Journey Is Done. And May We Meet Again, In The Clearing, At The End Of The Path.