"i listen to it saying for a long time before it can say the word and the listening part is afraid that there may not be time to say it. i feel my body, my bones and my flesh beginning to part and open upon the alone, and the process of coming unalone is terrible."
|~ william faulkner, as i lay dying|
“We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.” -Anaïs Nin