Time is light, time is dark. You either dance, or you fall.

Complaints about reality are immature.

All of this happened a long time ago. But not so long ago that everyone who played a part in it is dead. Some can still be met in dark old rooms with nurses in attendance.

... too much brooding, not enough doing.

People can only be found in what they do.

There are no beginnings, not even to stories. There are only places where you make an entrance into someone else's life and either stay or turn and go away.

I still maintain that an ordinary human being has the right to be horrified by a mangled body seen on an afternoon walk.