Things happen so fast, you’re born, you fall in love, you’re old. And the greatest things get crammed into the tiniest bits of time. The briefest moments are the very ones you wish you could capture, dwell upon, live in … we want to but we can’t … good thing, that.

There is only one path. For good or bad these are the lives we choose.

Grief is strange, it comes at you from all angles.

It began with an act of supreme violence– a big bang expanding ever outward, cosmos born of matter and gas, matter and gas ten billion years ago. Whose idea was this? Who had the audacity for such invention? And the reason? Were we part of that plan ten billion years ago? Are we born only…

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage,And then is…

“Let us go to the shore; there the waves will kiss our feet. With mysterious sadness the stars will shine down on us.” Aleksey Pleshcheyev (1825-1893)