"When you're alive and everything is going fine, why talk about things? Talking's for later, when talking's all there is that's left."

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The dog writhing in the gutter, its back broken by a passing car, knows what it is to be alive. So too with the aged elk of the far north woods, slowly dying in the bitter cold of winter. The asphalt upon which the dog lies knows no pain. The snow upon which the elk has collapsed knows not the cold. But living beings do.

— George Greenstein