My life feels, week to week, incomplete to the level of being pointless if I am not in preparation for the next play or, ideally, into it.

I don't act, I don't direct, I don't design.

For all the compasses in the world, there's only one direction, and time is its only measure.

Comparing what we're looking for misses the point. It's wanting to know that makes us matter. Otherwise we're going out the way we came in. That's why you can't believe in the afterlife, Valentine. Believe in the after, by all means, but not the life. Believe in God, the soul, the spirit, the infinite, believe in angels if you like, but not in the great celestial get-together for an exchange of views. If the answers are in the back of the book I can wait, but what a drag. Better to struggle on knowing that failure is final.

A circle is the longest distance to same point.

There would be this algebraic equation with an equals sign in the middle, and all the components would have different letters of the alphabet. It would come out right with x+z^2+t/q=y+co, and the co would be clothes off!

Death is the ultimate negative.