What passes relentlessly through the years is blood, and time; all the bitterness or warmth along the way is almost incidental. Even blood gets forgotten eventually, bleached into myth which are bleached of all colour into ashes of myth.

What passes relentlessly through the years is blood, and time; all the bitterness or warmth along the way is almost incidental. Even blood gets forgotten eventually, bleached into myth which are bleached of all colour into ashes of myth.

The wonder to me is not that she made it through at all but that she made it through so relatively intact, so vibrant. So free of bitterness and so empty of resentment.

If time stood still, and we could choose the time, the best time, then love without pain would be all I know.

The very concept of solid ground is a myth. The galaxy itself is adrift.

And I come to realise that all my small todays, the way I act, will lead into my tomorrows.

When you think you are in love, you don't want to know about the things that could end it.