The Endless Chatter Of This Journey Had

I Have Liv'd Long Enough For Others, Like The Dog In The Wheel, And It Is Now The Season To Begin For Myself: I Cannot Change That Thing Call'd Time, But I Can Alter Its Posture And, As Boys Do Turn A Looking-glass Against The Sunne, So I Will Dazzle You All.

I Strike Up Conversations All The Time And It Is Very Interesting, Finding Out About Things I Know Nothing About.

Under The Force Of The Imagination, Nature Itself Is Changed.

There Is A Word In Old English Which Belongs Wholly To That Civilization - "dustsceawung," Meaning Contemplation Of Dust. It Is A True Image Of The Anglo-saxon Mind, Or At Least An Echo Of That Consciousness Which Considered Transcience And Loss To Be Part Of The Human Estate; It Was A World In Which Life Was Uncertain And The Principal Diety Was Fate Or Destiny Or "wyrd."

I Don't Know If I Have A Voice Of My Own. I Don't See Me Being An Important Person With Something To Say. I Haven't. I've Got Nothing To Say. My Opinion Is Of No Consequence Or Value.