In real life, unlike in Shakespeare, the sweetness of the rose depends upon the name it bears. Things are not only what they are. They are, in very important respects, what they seem to be.
No matter what I do, no matter how predictable I try to make my life, it will not be any more predictable than the rest of the world. Which is chaotic.
I have lost friends, some by death... others through sheer inability to cross the street.
Even the fear of death is nothing compared to the fear of not having lived authentically and fully.
I feel very strongly that change is good because it stirs up the system.
Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities. Truth isn't.
One of the best rules in conversation is, never to say a thing which any of the company can reasonably wish had been left unsaid.