When death comes too near, comedy and tragedy fall silent.
A small boy puts his hand on the wall, and looks down intently as he wriggles his toes. The birth of thought?
The ravaged face in the mirror hides the enchanting youth that is the real me.
Maxims are sharp-edged half-truths.
Confess to the misdeeds you cannot hide.
Thoughts can be revised. Deeds cannot.