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If the beginning of wisdom is in realizing that one knows nothing, then the beginning of understanding is in realizing that all things exist in accord with a single truth: Large things are made of smaller things.
Large things are made from small things. Significance is cumulative—but not always obvious.
“Head got nothing to do with the heart. Your heart wants what it wants. Head got to learn
that it can only kill the heart or else get out of the way.”
Bernard had become, not so much important to her as he was natural to her whole being. He was as much a part of her thoughts as breath, food, and sleep. At once present and not present, conspicuous with his absence and filling her with a sense of completion when he was there.
Ambitions
are incompatible with consciences, you know. The two strangle one another straightaway and leave an awful mess behind them.”
Her eyes made time into something unimportant, something that fit itself to their needs and not the other way around. The moment lasted until it was finished, and only then was time allowed to resume its course.
