So small as to be negligible. It's strange, but there's something in that thought that makes me feel almost...free.
Maybe there's more we all could have done, but we just have to let the guilt remind us to do better next time.
I'm going to stop a revolution,'' I say. I turn right, and Peter follows me.
What's worse: to be idle while someone dies, or to be exiled and empty-handed?
To find that place between what I want and what I think is wise.
Who cares about pretty? I'm going for noticeable.