What does the world mean to you if you can’t trust it to go on shining where you’re not there?
Look, I want to love this world as though it’s the last chance I’m ever going to get to be alive and know it. So this is the world. I’m not in it. It is beautiful.
Dying, we look, and find ourselves beautiful and gone like the bear, the fox, and the chicks from the singer’s nest.