May the force be with them

He was sweating, his golf shirt buttoned to the neck, his hair brutally combed as if he had just been packed off to kindergarten for the first time. She was tanned, barefoot, loosely wrapped in something homespun and expensive, and she looked bored. If this was a first date, it was between two profoundly mismatched

Stop the news. I want to get off

When things are grim, I think of a letter I once read. It was written by an old, sad man to his favourite nephew. I forget the nephew’s name but the man’s name was Michelangelo and the note, translated from Italian, was dated some time in the early 1560s. A life of immense physical effort