Life is just a dream on the way to death.
Death, like virtue, has its degrees.
Childhood is over when you know you’re gonna die.
If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them.
There is a man, playing a violin, and the strings are the nerves in his own arm.
So the crow spirals down through a collapsed dream and the only sound it makes in like a concave scream.