If You Write Enough, You

Certain Things I Remember Exactly As They Were. They Are Merely Discolored A Bit By Time, Like Coins In The Pocket Of A Forgotten Suit. Most Of The Details, Though, Have Long Since Been Transformed Or Rearranged To Bring Others Of Them Forward. Some, In Fact, Are Obviously Counterfeit; They Are No Less Important. One Alters The Past To Form The Future.

In Climbing, Being First-rate Is Part Of The Whole Enterprise. The Important Climbers Want To Be The First Man Up The Mountain, The One Who Put Up The First Route. You're Usually Only Remembered If You Put Up The First Route On A Very Important Climb. The Route Might Even Be Named After You. That's A Kind Of Glory.

The Myriad Past, It Enters Us And Disappears. Except That Within It, Somewhere, Like Diamonds, Exist The Fragments That Refuse To Be Consumed. Sifting Through, If One Dares, And Collecting Them, One Discovers The True Design.

Happiness Is Often At Its Most Intense When It Is Based On Inequality.

Why Is It So Difficult To Assemble Those Things That Really Matter In Life And To Dwell Among Them Only? I Am Referring To Certain Landscapes, Persons, Beasts, Books, Rooms, Meteorological Conditions, Fruits.