The point of sex is... Sex doesn't have a point. - Michael Cunningham

You know, if you're hopeful, if you're even a little bit happy about something that might happen, it doesn't affect the outcome. You could still give yourself a period of optimism, even if it all falls apart.

Това, което понякога ме тревожеше, бе простата дружелюбност на всичко това. Живеехме в свят на доброта и домашен ред. Понякога се виждах като Снежанка, която живее при джуджетата. Джуджетата се грижели добре за нея. Но колко дълго би оцеляла тя, без надеждата да срещне някой с нейния ръст? Колко ли дълго е мела и кърпила, преди да започне да разбира, че животът ѝ се състои от безопасен рай и от невидими, но проникващи във всичко липси?

Eventually, decades later, when the king was dying, the queen gently ushered everybody out into the corridor, closed the door to the royal bedchamber, and got into bed with her husband. She started singing to him. They laughed. He was short of breath, but he could still laugh. They asked each other, Is this silly? Is this...pretentious? But they both knew that everything there was to say had been said already, over and over, across the years. And so the king, relieved, released, free to be silly, asked her to sing him a song from his childhood. He didn't need to be regal anymore, he didn't need to seem commanding or dignified, not with her. They were, in their way, dying together, and they both knew it. It wasn't happening only to him. So she started singing. They shared one last laugh - they agreed that the cat had a better voice than she did. Still, she sang him out of the world.