There has yet to be a human to survive a span of history without at least one end of the world.

They learned to hate her unknowability, her untouchability, the collage of her.

One hundred years of joy can be erased in one second

I started carrying blank books like this one around, which I would fill with all the things I couldn't say.

You do not have to utter anything you do not want to utter,” I told her, and she said, “Then I would never utter another word again.” “You do not have to do anything that you do not want to do.” “Then I would never do anything again.

ART Art is that thing having to do only with itself—the product of a successful attempt to make a work of art. Unfortunately, there are no expamples of art, nor good reasons to think that it will ever exist. (Everything that has been made has been made with a purpose, teverything with an end exists outside of that thing, i.e., "I want to sell this", or "I want this to make me famous and loved", or "I want this to make me whole", or worse, "I want this to make others whole.") And yet we continue to write, paint, sculpt and compose. Is this foolish of us?

They do not desire anything more than everything they have known.