At night the cries of cats making love or fighting, their caterwauling in the dark, told us that the world was pure emotion, flung back and forth among its creatures, the agony of the one-eyed Siamese...
[...] and the love he felt at that moment, truer than all subsequent loves because it never had to survive.
We couldn't imagine the emptiness of a creature who put a razor to her wrists and opened her veins, the emptiness and the calm.
And all goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, / and to die is different from that anyone supposed, and luckier.
