There is a way to live that makes the angels cry out
in rapture. There is
a way to live that makes
each star a cell.
Come stand with me here, it is
cold I know, and silent,
nothing is happening.
The next breath, and the next, is the new life.
Pavarotti retains a kind of religious, mystical, commitment to his "work.”And he insists on referring to it as "work,” claiming: "You can always love your work; your profession, at best, you can exercise.”Few people realize that the joyful tenor, the man who is always smiling, is almost a cloistered monk . . .