Civilization is only a pretense; in the crisis, we become mere apes again, forgetting the rational biped of our pretensions and becoming instead the hairy primate at the mouth of the cave, screeching at the enemy, wishing it would go away, fingering the heavy stone that we’ll use the moment it comes close enough.
Young lovers seek perfection. Old lovers learn the art of sewing shreds together. And of seeing beauty in a multiplicity of patches. – How to make an American Quilt.
