… and in the end the miracle of the transformation, not the particularity of the transformed, is what remained, even as our bodies, temples made of childish mistakes, sank back into formlessness.

… and in the end our fatalism was ground to dust by love, which is all there ever was, which is what time and space were made of, secretly. 

… and in the end motion and stillness were reconciled and made one, and it was the beginning.