The ordinary-sized stuff which is our lives, the things people write poetry about—clouds—daffodils—waterfalls—what happens in a cup of coffee when the cream goes in—these things are full of mystery, as mysterious to us as the heavens were to the Greeks.

the skull always grinned because it knew it would emerge triumphant, that it would comprise the sole identity of the face long after vain baubles like lips and skin and eyes were gone.

GIVE YOUR BEST
EVEN IF ARE BROKEN
BECAUSE TIME HEALS EVERYTHING

People grow up by living. I want to live.

Written By Alice Sebold

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