Sublime

Eventlessness has no posts to drape duration on. From nothing to nothing is no time at all.

No roses without thorns.

pertness;

"More servants wait on man Than he'll take notice of. In every path, He treads down that which doth befriend him

Flourishing seemed wrong in a man so disheartened as he was.

The weird hopelessness at the heart of lust.

T. S. Eliot wrote, “Teach us to care and not to care / Teach us to sit still.” We long for this, and yet we check our smartphones every ten minutes for news, texts, distraction.

She watched the little dreams of smoke as they spiraled about his hand, and she thought about happenings. She was afraid to suggest to him that, to most people, nothing at all “happens.” That most people merely live from day to day until they die. That, after he had been dead a year, doubtless fewer than five people would think of him oftener than