The white May blossom swooned slowly into the open mouth of the grave.

He knows that after him everything will continue on much as before, except that there will be a minuscule absence, a barely detective gap in the so-called grand scheme, one unit fewer now. Or not even that, not even an empty space where he once was, for all will rush immediately to fill that vacuum. Pft. Gone. Recollections of him will remain in the minds of others for a while, but presently those others too will die and his few relics with them. And then all will be dark.

Everything we do is tinged with the knowledge that this may be the last time that we will do this, and that makes what we're doing incredibly sweet.

Doing what you do well is death. Your duty is to keep trying to do things that you don't do well, in the hope of learning.

I never went to university. I'm self-educated. I didn't go because I was too impatient, too arrogant.

I don't own a Kindle, no. I love books, they are beautiful objects.

The world is not real for me until it has been pushed through the mesh of language.