" Nobody is ever there to help you, he thought. They are there to process you. They are not there to solve the world for you, but to solve you for the world. And they are not there to bring your dreams to fruition, but to grind them out of you, slowly, meticulously, so that you will crawl and grovel, without complaining, without a single complaint, perhaps even with a few murmurs of obsequious gratitude, into a life you did not ask for, and to remain there, without thought of your old aspirations, the futures you have discarded, the lives you let slip, your old crazed hopes—to put all these aside, and to remain content, content to be anything but an inconvenience, to the great process. "

― , Little Boy