Everything is true in a different sense, A sense that would have seemed meaningless before. Everything tends towards reconciliation As a stone falls, as the tree falls, And in the end That is the completion which at the beginning would have seemed the ruin.

There is nothing at all to be done about it, There is nothing to do about anything

Accident is design And design is accident In a cloud of unknowing.

The moment of sudden loathing And the season of stifled sorrow The whisper, the transparent deception The keeping up of appearances The making the best of a ba…