"Here stands a girl clutching a knife. There is grease on the stove, blood in the air, and angry words piled in the corners. We are trained not to see it, not to see any of it. . . . Someone just ripped off my eyelids."

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Sorrowful words become the sorrowful; angry words suit the passionate; light words a playful expression; serious words suit the grave. [Lat., Tristia maestum Vultum verba decent; iratum, plena minarum; Ludentem, lasciva: severum, seria dictu.]

— Horace