All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one's heart have a common provenance in pain. Their birth in grief and ashes. So, he whispered to the sleeping boy. I have you.

“In the end we all come to be cured of our sentiments.”

“He walked out into the road and stood. The silence. The salitter drying from th…”

“White pussy is nothin but trouble.”

“But there are no absolutes in human misery and things can always get worse”