Just Because Things Hadn't Gone The Way

Society Was Nothing But A Long, Dull Dinner Party Conversation In Which One Was Forced To Speak To One's Partner On Both The Left And The Right.

Guns Are Dangerous And Damaging Even When No One Gets Shot. They Really Do Loom.

Hope Is A Horrible Thing, You Know. I Don't Know Who Decided To Package Hope As A Virtue Because It's Not. It's A Plague. Hope Is Like Walking Around With A Fishhook In Your Mouth And Somebody Just Keeps Pulling It And Pulling It.

He Believed That Life, True Life, Was Something That Was Stored In Music. True Life Was Kept Safe In The Lines Of Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin While You Went Out In The World And Met The Obligations Required Of You. Certainly He Knew (though Did Not Completely Understand) That Opera Wasn't For Everyone, But For Everyone He Hoped There Was Something. The Records He Cherished, The Rare Opportunities To See A Live Performance, Those Were The Marks By Which He Gauged His Ability To Love.

Some People Are Born To Make Great Art And Others Are Born To Appreciate It. … It Is A Kind Of Talent In Itself, To Be An Audience, Whether You Are The Spectator In The Gallery Or You Are Listening To The Voice Of The World's Greatest Soprano. Not Everyone Can Be The Artist. There Have To Be Those Who Witness The Art, Who Love And Appreciate What They Have Been Privileged To See.