As A Species We Are

I Learned A Long Time Ago, Reuven, That A Blink Of An Eye In Itself Is Nothing. But The Eye That Blinks, That Is Something. A Span Of Life Is Nothing. But The Man Who Lives That Span, He Is Something. He Can Fill That Tiny Span With Meaning, So Its Quality Is Immeasurable Though Its Quantity May Be Insignificant. Do You Understand What I Am Saying? A Man Must Fill His Life With Meaning, Meaning Is Not Automatically Given To Life.

I Think Most Serious Writers, Certainly In The Modern Period, Use Their Own Lives Or The Lives Of People Close To Them Or Lives They Have Heard About As The Raw Material For Their Creativity.

I Do Not Have Many Things That Are Meaningful To Me. Except My Doubts And My Fears. And My Art.

But Today We Become Aware Of Other Readings Of The Human Experience Very Quickly Because Of The Media And The Speed With Which People Travel The Planet.

A Word Is Worth One Coin, Silence Is Worth Two