The ticking if the clock is like the heartbeat of a quiet night. I listen to it- tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick- and I wonder if clocks are like hearts. I figure they are, they're hearts for time, the only memory of eras gone past like the heartbeat is the only memorie of lives lived.

I hate it when clocks stop; doesn't matter if the batteries have run out or the pendulum has stopped swinging. A stopped clock feels like somebody's died and I've just found them, lying open and waiting for the life inside to be renewed. Only the obvious difference remains: you can put batteries back into a clock; you cannot force a heart to start beating again.