“Unanimity makes me itchy. It almost always hides a grave. I started digging.”

“Unanimity makes me itchy. It almost always hides a grave. I started digging.”

“Despair is not solid. Neither is joy. They alternate, and contain each other. There is no joy that is not also touched by sorrow, no grief that is not rendered sharper by the memory of bliss. If things move forward in one direction and not another, they do so by rolling there, passing through the same tight orbit, touching here an ecstasy, there another shattering loss.”