"Little do men perceive what solitude is, and how far it extendeth. For a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love."
Francis Bacon
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I’ve always thought that it was like a fresh croissant: freezing it destroys the texture and flavour of it. He doesn’t need me to record anything. He can say it again anytime he pleases. I will never trade his voice for the recollection of it. I aim to stay tuned, to stay tuned all the time. And I’m left thinking: Give us this hour our daily croissant?
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