I will start out this evening with an assertion: fantasy is a place where it rains. - Italo Calvino

You explode, if that's more to your taste, shoot yourself all around in endless darts, be prodigal, spendthrift, reckless: I shall implode, collapse inside the abyss of myself, towards my buried centre, infinitely.

"With my spyglass I can observe a woman who is reading on a terrace in the valley," I told her. "I wonder if the books she reads are calming or upsetting."
"How does the woman seem to you? Calm or upset?"
"Calm."
"Then she reads upsetting books."

At times the mirror increases a thing’s value, at times denies it.