Sooner or later words force one into a choice, a narrowing down, at some point the lustrous density of all the unexpressed possibilities must be attacked, pulverized, melted down, dissolved.
“A world I did not wish to enter
Took me and poised me on my centre,
Made me grimace, and foot, and prance,
As cats on hot bricks have to dance
Strange jigs to keep them from the floor,
Till they sink down and feel no more.”
Thomas Hardy | “A Necessitarian’s Epitaph”