Someday, I will grow up to be as wise as this child.
"You must ascend to Heaven, Astolpho [....] up to the pale fields of the Moon, where an endless storeroom preserves in phials placed in rows [....] the stories that men do not live, the thoughts that knock once at the threshold of awareness and vanish forever, the particles of the possible discarded in the game of combinations, the solutions that could be reached but are never reached. . . . "
Life is.
Life is the.
Life is the geometer's spiral staircase which never leaves the page. It twists impatiently but can never fly.
That is, unless unbent again by some friendly hand, the plane page is nudged forward, into the calm, warm air.