is never personal. It can no more happen to you than you can happen to a speck of cigarette ash.
It is not that the universe is incapable of malice. If it knew we existed it would despise us. Or pity us. But it's too busy to care.
I am too absent-spirited to count;
The loneliness includes me unawares
The world is unfair, but impartial.
We are abandoned children. We seek conspiracy in the stars.