Time is that quality of nature which keeps events from happening all at once. Lately it doesn't seem to be working.
Worries go down better with soup than without.
I nearly fell again, but new hands grabbed me from in front and dragged me down a steel floor and then forced me to my knees and locked my hands to something behind me.
In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.
The car slewed to a stop and only then did I notice that it wasn't a cop car, ambulance or fire-engine.
I have enjoyed greatly the second blooming... suddenly you find - at the age of 50, say - that a whole new life has opened before you.
How we remember, what we remember and why we remember form the most personal map of our individuality.
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