It always comes back to the same necessity: go deep enough and there is a bedrock of truth, however hard.
When addressed, a Gentleman Cat does not move a muscle. He looks as if he hasn't heard.
How unnatural the imposed view, imposed by a puritanical ethos, that passionate love belongs only to the young, that people are dead from the neck down by the time they are forty, and that any deep feeling, any passion after that age, is either ludicrous or revolting!
Don't forget that compared to a grownup person every baby is a genius.
A garden is always a series of losses set against a few triumphs, like life itself.
May we agree that private life is irrelevant? Multiple, mixed, ambiguous at best - out of it we try to fashion the crystal clear, the singular, the absolute, and that is what is relevant; that is what matters.