There are to be no toeholds for love. We are two-legged wombs, that’s all: sacred vessels, ambulatory chalices. - Margaret Atwood

It's the end of the world every day, for someone.

When you are in the middle of a story it isn't a story at all, but only a confusion; a dark roaring, a blindness, a wreckage of shattered glass and splintered wood; like a house in a whirlwind, or else a boat crushed by the icebergs or swept over the rapids, and all aboard powerless to stop it. It's only afterwards that it becomes anything like a story at all. When you are telling it, to yourself or to someone else.

I, too, was once like you: fatally hooked on life.