When it comes to life, we spin our own yarn, and where we end up is really, in fact, where we always intended to be.

Of all the virtues, discretion began to seem the most rewarding: it kept people guessing and sometimes, by default, admiring.

Time plays like an accordion in the way it can stretch out and compress itself in a thousand melodic ways. Months on end may pass blindingly in a quick series of chords, open-shut, together-apart; and then a single melancholy week may seem like a year's pining, one long unfolding note.

But things change, of course, and so do the ways in which people see themselves.

I, too, seem to be a connoisseur of rain, but it does not fill me with joy; it allows me to steep myself in a solitude I nurse like a vice I've refused to vanquish.

Mind who you love. For that matter, mind how you are loved.

When it comes to life, we spin our own yarn, and where we end up is really, in fact, where we always intended to be.