A lot of kids, me included, aspire from early on to live in New York because the crushing smallness of their birthplace pains them. They’re the town faggot or the town dreamer and they stand in their backyards and look into miles of desolation and quiet, knowing with bitter certainty that nobody, at least nobody they think of as significant, cares about them. They feel trapped in a tiny town beneath a massive sky full of stars, and they know they’ll be gone someday.
“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”
― Henry David Thoreau
If we could read the secret history of our enemies,we would find in each person’s life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow