My life is too tight, he wanted to say. My skin is too tight. The walls are too tight.

It was a sad loss, this illusion of importance, a humbling blow.

Sometimes a thing needed opening before closure was found.

When there’s only God to blame, we forgive him. When it’s our fellow man, we destroy him.

It turned out that some crooked things looked even worse when straightened. Some tangled knots only made sense once unraveled.

It’s easy to forgo distractions and to not accumulate things when you have a larger goal on the horizon.

There are two competing philosophies in Wool: one is that people have to live under an iron thumb in order to survive, and the other one is that everyone should live completely freely and happily and everything will sort itself out.