Even when it stands vacant the past is never empty”.
Men and women are hard ore, we do not go to slag in a mere few seasons of forge.
Childhood is the one story that stands by itself in every soul.
The spaces between stars are where the work of the universe is done.
There is more time than there is expanse of the world and so any voyage at last will end.
It came to me more as a whisper of suggestion than the fundamental adage that it is – if this is not biblical, I shall always believe it should be – that all of us need someone who loves us enough to forgive us despite the history.
Life is mostly freehand.
The nature of love is that it catches you off-guard, subjects you to rules you have never faced, some of them contradictory.
I am a writer, not a transcriber.
Every soldier in the course of time exists only in the breath of written word.
For as long as there are men and women, some things in life will best be done arm in arm, and strolling in a flower garden is one.
Life is a zigzag journey, they say, not much straight and easy on the way, but the wrinkles in the map, explorers know, smooth out like magic at the end of where we go.
What scrunched under our overshoes as we trudged through the stubble of the grainfield was the nasty mix of moistureless snow and windblown dirt that we called “snirt.