There's more beauty in the truth even if it is dreadful beauty.
A man may have lived all of his life in the gray, and the land and trees of him dark and somber. The events, the important ones, may have trooped by faceless and pale. And then-the glory-so that a cricket song sweetens his ears, the smell of the earth rises chanting to his nose, and dappling light under a tree blesses his eyes. Then a man pours outward, a torrent of him, and yet he is not diminished.
You must not forget that a monster is only a variation, and that to a monster the norm is monstrous.
Act out being alive, like a play. And after a while, a long while, it will be true.
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