They are commiting murder who merely live.
And I refuse to feel guilty about not letter-writing either. There are times when one can, times when one can't. In the times when an enormous amount of living is going on, one can't.
Nobody stays special when they're old, Anna. That's what we have to learn.
It is, I assume, quite easy to wither into old age, and hard to grow into it.
Pain can make a whole winter bright, like fever, force us to live deep and hard.
We are all jellyfish, too pitiful and too afraid of being disliked to be honest.