My imagination is a kind of animal. So what I do is keep it alive.

Things pass us by. Nobody can catch them. That's the way we live our lives.

Suicides? Heart attacks? The papers didn't seem interested. The world was full of ways to die, too many to cover. Newsworthy deaths had to be exceptional. Most people go unobserved.

I was thirty-seven then, strapped in my seat as the huge 747 plunged through dense cloud cover on approach to the Hamburg airport.

Most everything you think you know about me is nothing more than memories.

This is what it means to live on. When granted hope, a person uses it as fuel, as a guidepost to life. It is impossible to live without hope.

If only I could fall sound asleep and wake up in my old reality!