“Nothing changed, in the aftermath of loss. Songs kept getting written. Books kept getting read. Wars didn’t stop... Life renewed itself, over and over, without sympathy. Time surged on in its usual rhythms, those comings and goings, beginnings and ends, sensible progressions that fixed things in place, without a thought to the whistling in the woods on the outskirts of town...”

“Nothing changed, in the aftermath of loss. Songs kept getting written. Books kept getting read. Wars didn’t stop... Life renewed itself, over and over, without sympathy. Time surged on in its usual rhythms, those comings and goings, beginnings and ends, sensible progressions that fixed things in place, without a thought to the whistling in the woods on the outskirts of town...”

— Emma Stonex