Alley

The loneliest moment in someone’s life is

when they are watching their whole world fall apart,

and all they can do is stare blankly.

— F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Blake understood. Humans are savage in nature.

No matter how much you try to dress it up, to disguise it.

Blake saw society's true face. Chose to be a parody of it, a joke.

I heard a joke once. Man goes to doctor, says he's depressed.

Life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world.

Doctor says "Treatment is simple. The great clown, Pagliacci, is in town.

Go see him. That should pick you up

Man bursts into tears. "But doctor", he says,

"I am Pagliacci."

Good joke. Everybody laughs. Roll on snare drum. Curtains.

— Rorschach.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

― W.B. Yeats.

If children were brought into the world by an act of pure reason alone,

would the human race continue to exist?

Would not a man rather have so much sympathy with the coming generation

as to spare it the burden of existence,

or at any rate not take it upon himself

to impose that burden upon it in cold blood?

― Arthur Schopenhauer.

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know

how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and

errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of

witherings, of tarnishings.

― Anaïs Nin.

It has been said,

"time heals all wounds."

I do not agree.

The wounds remain.

In time, the mind,

protecting its sanity,

covers them with scar tissue

and the pain lessens.

But it is never gone.

― Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy.

I sit beside the fire and think 
Of all that I have seen
Of meadow flowers and butterflies
In summers that have been

Of yellow leaves and gossamer
In autumns that there were
With morning mist and silver sun
And wind upon my hair

I sit beside the fire and think
Of how the world will be
When winter comes without a spring 
That I shall ever see

For still there are so many things
That I have never seen
In every wood in every spring
There is a different green

I sit beside the fire and think
Of people long ago
And people that will see a world
That I shall never know

But all the while I sit and think
Of times there were before
I listen for returning feet 
And voices at the door.