“i’m telling you stories. trust me.”

“they say that every snowflake is different.  if that were true, how could the world go on?  how could we ever get up off our knees?  how could we ever recover from the wonder of it?

by forgetting.  we cannot keep in mind too many things.  there is only the present and nothing to remember.

on the flagstones, still visible under a coating of ice, some child had scrawled a game of noughts and crosses in red tailor’s chalk.  you play, you win, you play, you lose.  it’s the playing that’s irresistible.  dicing from one year to the next with the things you love, what you risk reveals what you value. ”


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