And what agony, thought Krug the thinker, to love so madly a little creature, formed in some mysterious fashion (even more mysterious to us than it had been to the very first thinkers in their pale olive gloves) by the fusion of two mysteries, or rather two sets of a trillion of mysteries each; formed by a fusion which is, at the same time, a matter of choice and a matter of chance and a matter of pure enchantment; thus formed and then permitted to accumulate trillions of its own mysteries; the whole suffused with consciousness, which is the only real thing in the world and the greatest mystery of all.
She really was pretty, for a grown-up, but when you are seven, beauty is an abstraction, not an imperative.
The Ocean at the End of the Lane
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She really was pretty, for a grown-up, but when you are seven, beauty is an abstraction, not an imperative.
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