My dear, I used to panic about this whole existence thing. No more. I’ve developed a new philosophy… I only dread one day at a time. Sure, life is made up of days, and yes, if I worry about enough of them I’ll dread the whole thing through accumulation. Which, being a gradual build-up, is better than imagining the entirety of it all and shrivelling into a human-like cocoon in fear of it all. You get smaller, less painful,...

My dear, Re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul. For what greater thing should we keep innocent than our soul? Let your body and mind grow, that is necessary, but let your soul be the forever child; let it be innocent. Let it wonder. Let it roam through fields like a child would, laughing and carefree. Let it cry unashamedly when hurt. Let it grieve, let it heal, and let...

My dear, Resign yourself to the lifelong sadness that comes from never ­being satisfied. But also resign yourself to the lifelong momentary flashes of happiness that arrive in the seconds between after having completed a journey and before pursuing a new one. For while we, the never satisfied, are lifelong grievers, the rest are lifelong settlers. For while we aim high and constantly fall short, they aim low, and lower, and are constantly...

My dear, I like the comfort in knowing that women are the only future in rock and roll. The comfort that comes from knowing that underneath all that rock and roll black there’s always going to be a gender that’s strong enough to add the red. That rock and roll won’t be just a heartless rebellion, a fucking fad. I like the comfort in knowing that the music I love will be in the hands of the superior gender. Falsely...

My dear, Being good in business is the most fascinating kind of art. Fascinating because you’re definitely an artist, yet you’ll never be recognized for it. Fascinating because while all other artists have the goal of bending paint and oil on a permanent canvas, your goal is to bend time and resources onto fleeting things. Fascinating because this frailty and impermanence makes you even more of an artist, yet no one, not even...

My dear, I am human, and therefore I am natural and a part of all that is natural (nature). A belief in the supernatural would require me to believe that there is something out there that is greater than me and the nature that I’m a part of, which is something I cannot do. I desire proof. I desire proof that something is superior to me before I believe it so. Skepticism is my starting point and in that sense I am faithless. Faith in...

My dear, If the path be beautiful, let us not ask where it leads. For what greater dread could there be but to know for certain? And to realize that it leads to our doom? And yet to also recognize that we shall walk the path nevertheless, for the beauty of it is too alluring. Let us not ask where the path that be beautiful leads; we know, let us not be sure about it, for then we shall have no excuses for walking it. Falsely yours, Anatole...

My dear, A conversation is not had in the words, but in the silence between them. The pauses and their length, the moments of eye contact and nothing but, and the restless and awkward shuffle when the silence becomes unbearable; that’s the conversation. The words mean very little. Silence is one of the great arts of conversation. To let your silence add to words is merely speaking. To let your words add to your silence is conversing....

My dear, Never give a sword to a man who can’t dance. The dance is the ideal. People must not be given swords before they’ve learnt how to enjoy life and its movement. People must not be given swords before they’ve discovered the inner strength required to publicly and foolishly dance with judgemental gazes thrust upon them. …The dance is the ideal. The man given a sword prematurely will never hear the music. And a...

My dear, I don’t care about someone being intelligent; any situation between people, when they are really human with each other, produces ‘intelligence.’ I care about the ones who wear their hearts on their sleeves, and the ones who jump off hard figurative and soft metaphorical cliffs over and over again. The well-read ones, the well-learnt ones, the well-traveled ones, the well-spoken ones, and the well-heard ones.. let them go...