When we press the thorn to our chest we know, we understand, and still we do it.

That's the purpose of old age... To give us a breathing space before we die, in which to see why we did what we did.

There is no doubt that it is more difficult to read and more difficult to write but I still manage.

Oh, that feels good! I don't know who invented ties and then insisted a man was only properly dressed when he wore one, but if I ever meet him, I'll strangle him with his own invention

I am writing a sequel to The Touch because I want to further explore the Chinese question that I have raised. There will be more about that in a sequel.

..the best is only bought at the cost of great pain...or so says the legend

The bird with the thorn in its breast, it follows an immutable law; it is driven by it knows not what to impale itself, and die singing. At the very instant the thorn enters there is no awareness in it of the dying to come; it simply sings and sings until there is not the life left to utter another note. But we, when we put the thorns in our breasts, we know. We understand. And still we do it. Still we do it.