And the angel said unto him, “stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself.” But lo, he could not stop, for the angel was hitting him with his own hands.
This is one little planet in one tiny solar system in a galaxy that’s barely out of its diapers. I’m old, Dean. Very old. So I invite you to contemplate how insignificant I find you.
Edna began to feel like one who awakens gradually out of a dream, a delicious, grotesque, impossible dream, to feel again the realities pressing into her soul. — Kate Chopin, The Awakening
