The poet Elizabeth Bishop, when she was feeling blue (which she often was), used to find comfort in thinking in geological rather than human time. If the vast aeons amid which we wink in and out of existence render our lives insignificant, so too do they render our suffering. As someone else said: nothing matters very much, and few things matter at all.
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CLAIM OFFER 10 issues for $1Get 10 weeks of full access to the latest news and opinion – in print and online – for just $1.
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