If you were alone when you were born, alone when you were dying, really absolutely
alone when you were dead, why “learn to be alone” in between? If you
had forgotten, it would quickly come back to you. Aloneness was like
riding a bike. At gunpoint. With the gun in your own hand. Aloneness was
the air in your tires, the wind in your hair. You didn’t have to go
looking for it with open arms. With open arms, you fell off the bike.
- Lorrie Moore, Thank You for Having Me
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