Slowly We Became Silent, And Silence Itself

As I Get Considerably Beyond The Biblical Allotment Of Three Score Years And Ten, I Feel With Increasing Intensity That I Can Express My Gratitude For Still Being Around On The Oxygen-side Of The Earth's Crust Only By Not Standing Pat On What I Have Hitherto Known And Loved. While Oxygen Lasts, There Are Still New Things To Love, Especially If Compassion Is A Form Of Love.

It Is Those We Live With And Love And Should Know Who Elude Us.

My Father Was Very Sure About Certain Matters Pertaining To The Universe. To Him All Good Things-trout As Well As Eternal Salvation-come By Grace And Grace Comes By Art And Art Does Not Come Easy.

Help Is Giving Part Of Yourself To Somebody Who Comes To Accept It Willingly And Needs It Badly.

He Told Us About Christ's Disciples Being Fisherman, And We Were Left To Assume...that All Great Fishermen On The Sea Of Galilee Were Fly Fisherman And That John, The Favorite, Was A Dry-fly Fisherman.