“She loved to walk down the street with a book under her arm. It had the same significance for her as an elegant cane for the dandy a century ago. It differentiated her from others.”

--Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Making up the arrangement. . .

Somebody must ask, why waste time thinking on how to sort out this puzzle, when all the pieces have the same straight edge?

Pain. . .

I'd call it a parasite. Once it gets in, it stays; it lives with you, it grows in you, and it eats you little by little by little...