A play is made by sensing how the forces in life simulate ignorance-you set free the concealed irony, the deadly joke.
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In the second half of life the necessity is imposed of recognizing no longer the validity of our former ideals but of their contraries. Of perceiving the error in what was previously our conviction, of sensing the untruth in what was our truth, and of weighing the degree of opposition, and even of hostility, in what we took to be love.
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Something was still there, that something that distinguishes an artist from a performer: the revealing of self. Here I be. Not for long, but here I be. In sensing her mortality, we sensed our own.
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When our knowing exceeds our sensing, we will no longer be deceived by the illusions of our senses.
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