If man merely sat back and thought about his impending termination, and his terrifying insignificance and aloneness in the cosmos, he would surely go mad, or succumb to a numbing sense of futility. Why, he might ask himself, should he bother to write a great symphony, or strive to make a living, or even to love another, when he is no more than a momentary microbe on a dust mote whirling through the unimaginable immensity of space? Those of us who are forced by their own sensibilities to view their lives in this perspective who recognize that there is no purpose they can comprehend and that amidst a countless myriad of stars their existence goes unknown and unchronicled can fall prey all too easily to the ultimate anomie.
I've seen enough horror movies to know that any weirdo wearing a mask is never friendly.
At exactly 4:49 AM, the sleep apnoea monitor that was hooked up to your child was unplugged for 36 minutes. Then it was plugged back in, and by that time, the child’s vitals had flat-lined. Charmaine, I need you to talk to me about some things.