Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe, old age flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.
Why do we call all our generous ideas illusions, and the mean ones truths?
Life is either always a tight-rope or a featherbed. Give me a tight-rope.
And you'll sit beside me, and we'll look, not at visions, but at realities.
She gave so many reasons that I've forgotten them all.
... even in houses commonly held to be 'booky' one finds, nine times out of ten, not a library but a book-dump.