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At one point midway on our path in life, I came around and found myself now searching through a dark wood, the right way blurred and lost.
‘The heart has its reasons that reason knows nothing of.’ ” “Pascal.”
“We must always love something. In those matters seemingly removed from love, the feeling is secretly to be found, and man cannot possibly live for a moment without it.”
knapped
“Cigarettes are killers that travel in packs.”
“You have great sorrows burning in your heart, and you’ll have more sorrows with someone very close
to you in the not so distant future. The Old Ones have told me this, and that’s probably the most important thing I have to say to you.”
“You collect things as you go—the things you think are important—and soon they weigh you down until you realize that these things you cared so much about mean nothing at all. Our natures are our natures.” He grunted. “And they are all we are left with.”
The forest is never silent, no matter the season; there are always sounds, and the trick is simply slowing yourself to the point where you can hear them.
Maybe this was what it was like to be dead, going through the motions until you came to a grinding halt thinking about all the things that you
still had to do. It certainly didn’t seem so different from being alive.
