Theo of Golden

“It’s hard enough to define what art is, much less ‘good art.’ I wonder if there is such a thing. Maybe there are just good responses. But I guess if a work of art makes us see something familiar in a new way or makes us feel something we ought to have felt all along or shows us our place in the world more clearly, maybe then it qualifies as ‘good.’ If it makes us better somehow, maybe that’s what gives it value.”

I have no talent for music, except to listen. But what one loves, one learns about.

Lots of very good intentions end up very badly, intentions that might have been better served if they had been acted on quietly

“Theo, I appreciate that you’re such a sensitive man. You have a tender heart.” “Not tender, Asher. Broken. My expertise in sadness is hard-earned. But I realize more and more that it is a gift. Living with sadness, accepting it, is easier than trying to pretend it isn’t there. It is another of life’s great mysteries that sadness and joy can coexist so compatibly with one another. In fact, I wonder if, on this side of heaven, either one can be complete without the other.”

There was no self-congratulation in his reminiscence; instead, only gratitude that he was allowed to be an instrument in the process