Big time and Big space are the stuff of life and dreams. In the promulgation of both, the imagery of success tantalises but nothing gets delivered to a waiting room. It's easiest just to keep imagining a desired future and at the same time keep putting it off. If Shakespeare is hard work, even in idleness, one should read Kafka and Camus.

The real thing is what one actually makes. The life of an artist hovers in the zone of possibilities until he wills something into creation. One has a choice. It is the quality of what one is deciding to do in the presently moving moment that either does or does not create what one might eventually do or make.

There is so much that one must know in order to make what one might really need.

Living in God's vast space, everything is interesting but I only have my little vignette so there must be priorities set and promises made to Lord Time to honour those small talents he has bestowed upon my soul. Thus he may provide for my meals.

The will is motivated principally by the desire for pleasure but I know that satisfaction only comes upon the completion of projects: there is a necessary expenditure in all things.

I think what people call aptitude is the textile of truth, talent, timing, practice, will and travail. Effort is needed but one should avoid, at the same time, seeming to try too hard.