I knew the day would come, when I would no longer stand with you beside the white camellia. What I didn't know was, when the day came, I would be prepared for it.

His hair was one thousand shades of brown. This, the image which remains in my mind, years after conversations of Dicaeopolis, and years after the marsala had been drunk to the last. I now understand Rilke, when, in the Duino Elegies, he speaks of beauty as the beginning of terror.