I am almost a hundred years old; waiting for the end, and thinking about the beginning. There are things I need to tell you, but would you listen if I told you how quickly time passes? I know you are unable to imagine this. Nevertheless, I can tell you that you will awake someday to find that your life has rushed by at a speed at once impossible and cruel. The most intense moments will seem to have occurred only yesterday and nothing will have erased the pain and pleasure, the impossible intensity of love and its dog-leaping happiness, the bleak blackness of passions unrequited, or unexpressed, or unresolved.
Live for everything, or die for nothing
No thought is a stupid thought, those who are thoughtless are thought of as stupid.
I've changed my ways a little, I cannot now Run with you in the evenings along the shore, Except in a kind of dream, and you, if you dream a moment, You see me there.
Knowing you are alive is watching on every side your generation's short time falling away as fast as rivers drop through air, and feeling it hit.
Any hand can condem, but it takes a helping hand to build.
The physical reinvention of the world is endless, relentless, fascinating, exhaustive; nothing that seems solid is. If you could stand at just a little distance in time, how fluid and shape-shifting physical reality would be, everything hurrying into some other form, even concrete, even stone.
It's weird how I am constantly surprised by the passage of time when it's literally the most predictable thing in the Universe.
The Northwest Passage is Canadian. People can't just abuse it.
Sometimes I feel that 'Footloose' is the rite of passage.
Cinema was my rite of passage.
I'm only interested in rites of passage stories.
On my passage thither, I discovered nothing remarkable in the features of the country.
