Death, like God, is still much too big for us. If this book were bare as a clean-picked bone, each syllable would point to that desolate beauty. But a book is built of words, and words imply a Great Struggling to Understand. Death laughs outside the boundaries of human understanding. While we huddle in libraries and houses, apartments and churches, parks andcafés, Struggling to Understand, death chomps sedately on our bones, lazy with victory.
-Sondra Charbadze
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