"Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet Grace must still look so."

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Like all things in the universe, we are destined from birth to diverge. Time is simply the yard-stick of our separation. If we are particles in a sea of distance, exploded from an original whole, then there is a science to our solitude. We are lonely in proportion to our years.

— Ian Caldwell