I am fond of silence and silence is fond of me. On snowy winter mornings when I write silence clears my worried mind and soothes my restless heart and calms my disposition. Silence is then stilly bliss. On torrid afternoons in summer when I espy through the window shirtless men and girls in shorts bantering, … Continue reading Blissful, Lonely, Noisy Silence
If each of us knew the date of our death many years in advance, wouldn’t we live more effectively, stop wasting time on trifles, and pursue our dreams like greyhounds pursue game? I think we would, which is why I’ve just written on a sticky note 19,710, the number of days I estimated to have … Continue reading Would We Be Happier If We Knew the Date of Our Death?
Why would anyone give up hours, days, weeks, months of life in this marvelous and giddy world to lock himself in a room and stain white paper with black ink to try to make colorful thoughts? Why would anyone fill with words pages that might end up becoming only a stack of love letters never … Continue reading Why would any sensible person chose to become a writer?
boy with a hat 