Our lives are fictions, a work we leave behind, signed.
We are the ancestors of those gardening the universe.
The people knew what had made them human. It was not their shortcomings, but their hearts.
There is no hospitality like understanding.
To paraphrase the great poet Dante, the heavens swirl above us and our eyes are still cast to the ground.
Any literature, when it arrives at being good literature, transcends genre.