The purpose of the poetry is not to dazzle us with an astonishing thought, but to make one moment of existence unforgettable and worthy of unbearable… - Milan Kundera

If a mother was Sacrifice personified, then a daughter was Guilt, with no possibility of redress.

He was well aware that of the two of three thousand times he had made love (how many times had he made love in his life?) only two or three were really essential and unforgettable. The rest were mere echoes, imitations, repetitions, or reminiscences.

It was time laid bare, time in and of itself, time at its most basic and primal, and it forced me to call it by its true name (for now I was living pure time — pure, vacant time) so as not to forget it for a moment, keep it constantly before me, and feel its weight.