The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.

Today, you're halfway to 100! Here's to optimism, whether it is realistic or not. Happy 50th birthday!

And all shall be well and/ All manner of thing shall be well/ By the purification of the motive/ In the ground of our beseeching

and now you live dispersed on ribbon roads, And no man knows or cares who is his neighbor Unless his neighbor makes too much disturbance, But all dash to and fro in motor cars, Familiar with the roads and settled nowhere.

Most of the trouble in the world is caused by people wanting to be important.

Unreal friendship may turn to real But real friendship, once ended, cannot be mended

To make an end is to make a beginning.