My life amounts to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean. Yet what is any ocean, but a multitude of drops?
In an individual, selfishness uglifies the soul; for the human species, selfishness is extinction.
But no, we cross, crisscross, and recross our old tracks like figure skaters.
Trees're always a relief, after people.
Probably in a parallel universe not far from here, I'm working for Nintendo.
The human world is made of stories, not people.