Exaggerated Memories

Gormshuil of Moy. You will hear many things said of her, and all bad. But not many people, sir, are all bad.

Why do I speak of her? Because she lived. Because by living, she altered the world as we all do, and who is there to speak of her? So I speak of her.

It was nature's church. That's what I call it. Mother Nature's church, for her brambles wrapped round the pulpit, and her sermon was soft pigeon calls. Her hymns were beetles clicking over wood. More churches should be like that church, maybe.

Sometimes we have so much to say, we cannot say it. Sometimes it is best we do not say goodbyes.

But what good are backward glances? They do not help. They cannot be helped, or do any proper helping. I had her with me . 'I will never be far away from you.' So I said 'on with it' -- I had to. I knew a life awaited me.

How would you like my words? I have so many of them. Like a night sky is starry, so my mind is shining with words.

Happiness is as a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but which if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you.

"Be true! Be true! Be true! Show freely to the world, if not your worst, yet some trait whereby the worst may be inferred!"

Sing out to them and they will answer you with words colored brightly of winter berry and summered youth.

"You know, we forget half of what they teach us in school, but when it comes to the torment and the people who inflicted it we've all got an elephant's memory."

Maybe I only ever envisioned myself grown and bathed in loneliness.