Tonight is a whisky kind of night. Would that I had any worth drinking.
What Shall Life Make Of Us?
“If we cannot be lovers,
Let us be friends,” she said.
“If we cannot be friends
Let me write to you instead
Whenever I have cause to feel alone,
Apart, ashamed of who I am
And what I’ve done.” “Frankly,”
He said, “my dear, I do give a damn.
“If your heart bursts with joy
Or is rent with pain,
Or shame, or if you blame yourself
For every ill in every day
Of every friend you have; you may
Write to me. Always.
“I know this is your lot; let it be mine
To help you as you walk your chosen road.
Lover, friend, or confidant: whatever role you’ll choose for me
I’ll play it well, if you will only help me bear my load.”
Let us go then, you and I.
“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.“
– Oscar Wilde, Lady Windermere’s Fan