Sublime

For she had embodied the Great Perhaps—she had proved to me that it was worth it to leave behind my minor life for grander maybes, and now she was gone and with her my faith in perhaps.

the rare human experience so ubiquitous that the pronouns require no antecedent.

I’m not saying that everything is survivable. Just that everything except the last thing is.”

Anger just distracts from the all-encompassing sadness,

“What’s even holding us together?” she asked me. “Love,” I said. “I guess it’s been love the whole time.”

“Never predict the end of the world. You’re almost certain to be wrong, and if you’re right, no one will be around to congratulate you.”

Less realizes he has made the sound himself. For the dead live only in us.

Part of our fears about the world ending must stem from the strange reality that for each of us our world will end, and soon. In that sense, maybe apocalyptic anxieties are a by-product of humanity’s astonishing capacity for narcissism. How could the world possibly survive the death of its single most important inhabitant—me?

It seemed like forever ago, like we’d had this brief but still infinite forever. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.