Virgil

“I think this book is the most healed and loving form I can make. Then should I send this book across the ocean to where my grandmother is buried-give it to the worms and bugs who live in the soil of my grandmother’s grave? But why do they deserve this sadness? Maybe I’ll just scatter it like ash in the world-as if publishing a book is like scattering ashes from an urn-in the sea, in the forest, in a city, anywhere.

Maybe I will take this book to my mother’s house. I will knock on her door and go up to her and say, It’s here. On the page. Your mother’s sadness, and your sadness, and mine. Although not all of the reasons. I don’t know all of the reasons.

As she reads through it, I’ll stand there and wonder: Do you think with our lives we validated your mother? Do you think we helped her at all? Did we do our job? Can her life be said to be worth what you thought it was worth? Is this the first thing we have ever done together? You carried the nightmares, and I carried them, too. Can we put them down now? In putting down this book, will you put your sadness down? Put down whatever remains of your task, and finally rest satisfied?

Maybe she will say, It’s okay that you don’t know all of the reasons. When I diagnose a cancer, I don’t need to say the reasons. I’m just asked whether it’s malignant or benign.
Then these tears, I will say, this pain, this sadness, this tumour-like growth. In your professional opinion, is it malignant or benign?
I’ve looked it over carefully-and my opinion is that it’s benign. My suggestion is not to operate. There are more dangers associated with taking it out than leaving it inside.”
― Sheila Heti, Motherhood

“Sin, young man, is when you treat people like things. Including yourself. That’s what sin is.”
― Terry Pratchett, Carpe Jugulum

“Oh, my dear Vimes, history changes all the time. It is constantly being re-examined and re-evaluated, otherwise how would we be able to keep historians occupied? We can't possibly allow people with their sort of minds to walk around with time on their hands.”
― Terry Pratchett, Jingo