My own eyes try to sleep, but they don't. They stay wide awake as time snarls forward and silence drops down, like measured thought.

I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race - that rarely do I ever simply estimate it.

In the basement of 33 Himmel Street, Max Vandenburg could feel the fists of an entire nation. One by one they climbed into the ring to beat him down. They made him bleed. They let him suffer. Millions of them - until one last time, when he gathered himself to his feet.

The dilemma, of course, is that such people save their most important words for after, when the surrounding humans are unlucky enough to find them.

We both laugh and run and the moment is so thick around me that i feel like dropping into it to let it carry me.

Clearly, I see it. I was just about to leave when I found her kneeling there. A mountain range of rubble was written, designed, erected around her. She was clucthing at a book.

It was a style not of perfection, but warmth. Even mistakes had a good feeling about them