There is in the soul a desire for not thinking. For being still. Coupled with this a desire to be strict, yes, and rigorous. But the soul is also a smooth son of a bitch, not always to be trusted. And I forgot that. I listened when it said, Better to sing that which is gone and will not return than that which is still with us and will be with us tomorrow. Or not. And if not, that’s all right too. It didn’t much matter, it said, even if a man sang. That’s the voice I listened to. - from Radio Waves by Raymond Carver via The Paris Review