" There is something you can tell people over and over, and with feeling and eloquence, and still never say it well enough for it to be more than news from abroad--of climbing, and knowing it, to some unrepeatable pitch and coming forth on the other side, which is pleasant still but which is, unarguably, different--which is the beginning of descent. It is the news that no one is singular, that no argument will change the course, that one's time is more gone than not, and what is left waits to be spent gracefully and attentively, if not actively. "

― Mary Oliver , Winter Hours: Prose, Prose Poems, and Poems