Neither our own passing nor the passing of an era is a tragedy, no matter how much we would like to think it is.

But perhaps age has taught me that the earth is still new, molten at the core and still forming, that black leaves in the winter forest will crawl with life in the spring, that our story is ongoing and it is indeed a crime to allow the heart's energies to dissipate with the fading of light on the horizon.

Age is a clever thief. It takes a little from you each day, so you're not aware of your loss until it'd irreversible.

You have two choices in life. You either die or do something with your time. You're going to be doing something - why not write?

We all end up in the same place. Some sonner than others.

If there is any human tragedy, there is only one, and it occurs when we forget who we are and remain silent while a stranger takes up residence inside our skin.

And every good artist knows that the gift comes from somewhere else, and it's there for a reason, and that's to make the world a better place.