sigh for

The filmmaker Luis Buñuel, Dalí’s old schoolmate and collaborator on the Surrealist classics “Un Chien Andalou” and “L’Age D’or,” pointedly blamed Gala in his memoir “My Last Sigh” for the men’s estrangement, calling her “a woman I have always tried to avoid.”

As he pedals madly through Tokyo’s streets, wearing Jake’s mandatory cheap suit and omnipresent backpack, we can heave a collective sigh for our youth.

So, with a quiet sigh for me, Biddy rose from the bank, and said, with a fresh and pleasant change of voice, “Shall we walk a little farther, or go home?”

This is not a typical autumn in New York, but that song’s lyrics resonate as deeply as ever: “It’s autumn in New York that brings the promise of new love. Autumn in New York is often mingled with pain. Dreamers with empty hands, they sigh for exotic lands. It’s autumn in New York. It’s good to live it again.”

I’ve climbed almost every hill and tower for the panoramic views that are to sigh for.