From now on it is not dying we must fear, but living.
The wreckage of stars – I built a world from this wreckage.
Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday, I don’t know.
This is the world, he thought. And I am in it.
Try again. Fail again. Fail better.
We have an infinite supply of information and yet we cannot read.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, yadda yadda yadda.
The world is, of course, nothing but our conception of it.
New mysteries. New day. Fresh doughnuts.
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