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I'm really not in a mood and rather temperamental these days. To me, there are as many nights as days, and the one is just as long as the other in the year's course. Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness and the word 'happy' would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness. The end comes when we no longer talk with ourselves. It is the end of genuine thinking and the beginning of the final loneliness. The remarkable thing is that the cessation of the inner dialogue marks also the end of our concern with the world around us. It is as if we noted the world and think about it only when we have to report it to ourselves.

At times it's such a straightforward sort of colour. I never squint at a black tee shirt, wondering if it goes with my black jeans. I never have to get up in the morning, thinking "I wonder what colour I'll wear today." And black goes with anything. As long as the anything is black. And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.

I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge, that myth is more potent that history. I believe that dreams are more powerful than facts - that hope always triumphs over experience - that laughter is the only cure for grief. And I believe that love is stronger than death.

Despair makes a despicable figure, and descends from a mean original. 'Tis the offspring of fear, of laziness and impatience; it argues a defect of spirit and resolution, and often times of honesty too. I would not despair, unless I saw misfortune recorded in the book of fate, and signed and sealed by necessity.

Paranoid?