The myriad past, it enters us and disappears. Except that within it, somewhere, like diamonds, exist the fragments that refuse to be consumed. Sifting through, if one dares, and collecting them, one discovers the true design.

Life is weather. Life is meals.

As I look back, I see that life is like a game of solitaire and every once in a while there is a move.

Age doesn't arrive slowly, it comes in a rush. One day nothing has changed, a week later, everything has. A week may be too long a time, it can happen overnight. You are the same and still the same and suddenly one morning two distinct lines, ineradicable, have appeared at the corners of your mouth.

ONE OF THE LAST GREAT REALIZATIONS is that life will not be what you dreamed.

There comes a time when you realize that everything is a dream, and only those things preserved in writing have any possibility of being real.

It's tremendous: this world, this life. Take it while you have it.