We enter the woods because nothing in the natural world has a strategy.
It is a thin and inconsequential book, the one that success writes. Failure, by comparison, is a playwright’s dream—dark, depthless and quiveringly quiet, like Robert Frost’s woods or Paul Simon’s blacked-out bathroom.
When we buy a piece of art, the first thing we do is put a frame around it. This protects the art, intensifies its beauty. Frames are boundaries. There’s no love without them.