So the day became one of waiting, which was, he knew, a sin: moments were to be experienced; waiting was a sin against both the time that was still to come and the moments one was currently disregarding.
Richard had noticed that events were cowards: they didn’t occur singly, but instead they would run in packs and leap out at him all at once.
I have always felt that violence was the last refuge of the incompetent, and empty threats the final sanctuary of the terminally inept.
The only advice I can give you is what you’re telling yourself. Only, maybe you’re too scared to listen.