Because it is the garden. What is left to us.
Because silence is not silence without sound.
Because you have let the cat out, and then in, and then out,
and then in, and then out, and then in, and then
out, and then in, and then out, and then in,
enough.
Because otherwise their precision at the blue line would
mean nothing.
Because otherwise death would mean nothing.
Because the light says so.
Because a human being can gladly eat only so much cabbage
Because the pockets of your overcoat need mending.
Because it's easy not to.
Because your sweaters smell.
Because Gregory of Nazianzen said geometry has no place in
mourning, by which he meant despair presumes toc
much.
Because it ain't over 'til it's over. - Hank Aaron, Jackie
Robinson. Satchel Paige.
Because Kant was wrong, and Socrates, Descartes and all the
rest. Because it is the body thinking and Newt
Gingrich would like you not to.
Because the signs are not wrong: you are here.
Because I love you. Or you love someone. Because someone
is loved.
Because under the sun, everything is new.
Because the wet snow in the trees is clotted light.
Because in 1841 it took six cords of wood to get through a
winter in one room at Harvard and two-thirds
of Maine used to be open country as a result.
Because sleeping is not death.
Because although an asshole was practising his Elvis Presley
imitation, full voice, Sunday morning, April 23rd
at Spectacle Lake Provincial Park, the winter wrer
simply moved 200 yards down the trail.
Because the wren's voice is moss in sunlight, because it is
a stream in sunlight over stones.
Because Beethoven titled the sonata.
I mean: would Bill Evans and Frank Morgan lie to you?
Because even sorrow has a source.
For, though it cannot fly, the heart is an excellent clamberer.
Three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my life: the longing for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind. These passions, like great winds, have blown me hither and thither, in a wayward course, over a deep ocean of anguish, reaching to the very verge of despair.
— The Autobiography of Bertrand Russell 
Whether I do something, whether I do nothing, time still passes...
— Koji Yamamura
Don't smoke, drink only occasionally, no dependence on
What happen,
to the girl you want to hold her hands?
What become to the place,
where you saw her standing there?
Yet she loves you but
Michelle become a grandmother
Eleanor Rigby is in nursing home
Blackbird had flew to Norwegian Wood
John was gun down in 1980, George also gone in 2001.
Ringo sang when I'm 64 in 2004, Sir Paul followed him 2 years later.
Marcel Proust Remembrance all things past.
John Donne asked, Where all pass years are?
It is no use to hear the mermaids singing.
Though nothing can bring back the hour
of splendour in the grass,
of glory in the flower...
Twenty meters of trees front
after that was clear cut
Ask McGuinty, Harris
or the previous one or the
one before previous one
What had they done?
Other side was a lake painted by
the group of seven, were eight, not seven
Hollowing...
the trees were asking each other
the wind said, I don't have a answer
I was racing on the map
no cars before and no cars after
prehistorical solitude hunt me down
run rabbit run!
The lizard wakes up and finds he's the 
