The urge is always with me to retouch yesterday's canvas with today's paintbrush and cover the things that fill me with regret.

That which is painful sharpens one's love.

Perhaps there are just some things you leave behind when you choose a new life.

There's a gentle sigh which descends like billowing silk upon the soul that accepts its coming death. It's a gentle pocket of air in the turbulence of everyday life... the silk settles around you as if it has been drifting towards the earth forever and has finally found it's target. The flag of defeat has been mercifully dropped and, in this action, the loss is not so bad. Defeat itself is defeated by the embrace of defeat, and death is swallowed up in victory.

The urge is always with me to retouch yesterday's canvas with today's paintbrush and cover the things that fill me with regret.

With every fragment of rock that fall from me, I can hear the voice of Marianne Engle. I love you. Aishiteru. Ego amo te. Ti amo. Eg elska pig. Ich liebe dich. It is moving across time, coming to me in every language of the world, and it sounds like pure love.

Accidents ambush the unsuspecting, often violently, just like love.