The Realisation Of One's Own Death Is

How Grudging Memory Is, And How Bitterly She Clutches The Raw Material Of Her Daily Work.

The Memory Of Man Is As Old As Misfortune

Truth Disappears With The Telling Of It.

Music Was Invented To Confirm Human Loneliness.

Lovers Can Find Nothing To Say To Each Other That Has Not Been Said And Unsaid A Thousand Times Over. Kisses Were Invented To Translate Such Nothings Into Wounds