We are all compelled to take the same road; from the urn of death, shaken for all, sooner or later the lot must come forth. [Lat., Omnes eodem cogimur; omnium Versatur urna serius, ocius Sors exitura.]
We were all heading for each other on a collision course, no matter what. Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story.
The question of truth is really a question of memory, deep memory, for it deals with something prior to ourselves and can succeed in uniting us in a way that transcends our petty and limited individual consciousness. It is a question about the origin of all that is, in whose light we can glimpse the goal and thus the meaning of our common path.
We fancy men are individuals; so are pumpkins; but every pumpkin in the field goes through every point of pumpkin history.
The one path that never works is the most common one: doing nothing at all.
We all travel the Milky Way together, trees and men.
My path has been, I think, a path a lot of women can foresee themselves taking.
For things at a common destination there is a common path. Not always easy to see. But there.
