“In a hundred years, we’ll all be dead, and then nothing will matter.” “What?” “That’s something my husband said once. It gives you this immediate perspective. Maybe life has no ceiling, no floors, no walls, and we’re free-falling from the moment we’re born, lying to each other, agreeing to make invented ideas important, to numb ourselves from the secret.” “What’s the secret?” “Maybe what happens between birth and death isn’t as precious as we think.”
