I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day. And I have asked to be where no storms come.
The ability to think for one’s self depends upon one’s mastery of the language.
When we talk about mortality we are talking about our children.
Was it only by dreaming or writing that I could find out what I thought?
I wanted to get the tears out of the way so I could act sensibly.
Everything’s going along as usual and then all shit breaks loose.
Do not whine… Do not complain. Work harder. Spend more time alone.
Only the survivors of a death are truly left alone.
Medicine, I have reason since to notice more than once, remains an imperfect art.