“Adventure is just bad planning.”
—Roald Amundsen

Not all wealth is counted in coin. Some of it is the warmth of a late sun, the company of a soul, and the hush between crickets and stars.

Some things fly better in memory than they ever did in air.

So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight.

So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight.

The thousand times he had proved it meant nothing. Now he was proving it again.

“He no longer dreamed of storms, nor of women, nor of great occurrences, nor of great fish, nor fights, nor contests of strength, nor of his wife.”

Can music save our mortal soul?