There is some strange intimacy between grief and aliveness, some sacred exchange between what seems unbearable and what is most exquisitely alive.
Frances Weller, The Wild Edge of Sorrow
The Edge

There is some strange intimacy between grief and aliveness, some sacred exchange between what seems unbearable and what is most exquisitely alive.
Frances Weller, The Wild Edge of Sorrow
I was reading Anna Karenina when this whole thing started
I pulled it off a dusty shelf in a used book store on Dauphine Street
and paid in dollar bills and cents — $8.10 — on February 17
Virginia and I were in New Orleans seeing colleges
So innocent as the coronavirus spread to
the Diamond Princess cruise ship
Now I read The Washington Post.
Russian counts and love affairs seem
frivolous pleasures
But I still need Tolstoy to remind me
All we can know is that we know nothing.
Leo Tolstoy
And that is the height of human wisdom.