On plenty of days the writer can write three or four pages, and on plenty of other days he concludes he must throw them away.

We will extend our arms to you[world] if you unclench your fists.

ice contains no future , just the past, sealed away. As if they're alive, everything in the world is sealed up inside, clear and distinct. Ice can preserve all kinds of things that way- cleanly, clearly. That's the essence of ice, the role it plays.

How can I be envious of where you are when I've been there myself?

Written By Mitch Albom

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