I Never Was Someone Who Was At

I Just Read An 800-page History Of The Scottish Enlightenment And, Honestly, I May As Well Just Start It Again Now, Because I Cannot Remember A Single Thing. I Can Barely Remember Where Scotland Is.

In Books, Day Breaks, And Night Falls. In Life, Night Rises From The Ground. The Day Hangs On For As Long As It Can, Bright And Eager, Absolutely And Positively The Last Guest To Leave The Party, While The Ground Darkens, Oozing Night Around Your Ankles, Swallowing For Ever That Dropped Contact Lens, Making You Miss That Low Catch In The Gully On The Last Ball Of The Last Over.

Driving A Motorcycle Is Like Flying. All Your Senses Are Alive.

Celebrity Is Absolutely Preposterous. Entertainment Seems To Be Inflating. It Used To Be The Punctuation To Your Life, A Film Or A Novel Or A Play, A Way Of Celebrating A Good Week Or Month. Now It Feels As If It's All Punctuation.

There Is Almost No Such Thing As Ready. There Is Only Now.