There is comfort in routine.
The sale of souls to gain the whole world is completely voluntary and almost unanimous...but not quite.
Somewhere in the world there is a defeat for everyone. Some are destroyed by defeat, and some made small and mean by victory. Greatness lives in one who triumphs equally over defeat and victory.
I wonder why progress looks so much like destruction.
The land is so much more than its analysis.
We are lonesome animals. We spend all our life trying to be less lonesome. One of our ancient methods is to tell a story begging the listener to say โ and to feel โ "Yes, thatโs the way it is, or at least thatโs the way I feel it. Youโre not as alone as you thought."