I have crushed the cup of youth like a rose between my fingers but its nectar never warmed my weary heart.

The soul is healed by being with children.

Children are poor men's riches.

So what becomes of you my love when they have finally stripped you of the handbags and the glad rags that your Granddad had to sweat so you could buy.

I was born in March 1949, a post war baby boomer.

You can lay down and die, or you can get up and fight, but that's it -- there's no turning back.