No use crying over spilled milk.

We knew nothing of loss. Nobody has taught us about pain. Until that moment, death had just amounted to a scary sound.

Why is it you can never hope to describe the emotion Africa creates? You are lifted. Out of whatever pit, unbound from whatever tie, released from whatever fear. You are lifted and you see it all from above.

What kind of heart does one have to have in order to be able to get rid of these, without regret, as if they were empty beer cans?

I had fallen out of my secure world, precipitated beyond the territories I had only begun to control so skillfully. What a foolish step to take. What an insane move to make.

No use crying over spilled milk.

When people die and especially when they die tragically, others can't help but get carried away. They come up with their implausible interpretation and usually resort to cheap psychology. A sense of fatalism is the only form of relief left.