During my incarceration Mother visited me. She had in some way managed to leave the workhouse and was making an effort to establish a home for us. Her presence was like a bouquet of flowers; she looked so fresh and lovely that I felt ashamed of my unkempt appearance and my shaved iodined head.'You must excuse his dirty face,' said the nurse.Mother laughed, and how well I remember her endearing words as she hugged and kissed me: 'With all thy dirt I love thee still.

Moving pictures need sound as much as Beethoven symphonies need lyrics.

The heart and the mind, what an enigma.

Unless I write every day, I don't feel I deserve my dinner.

Quebec from the boat looked like the ramparts where Hamlet's ghost might have walked.

As long as men die, liberty will never parish.

Life is a play that does not allow testing. So, sing, cry, dance, laugh and live intensely, before the curtain closes and the piece ends with no applause.