"Anything might come to pass tomorrow. And today was the white, snowy iridescent threshold of all possibility.
All possibility - that was the charm to her, the lovely, iridescent, indefinite charm - pure illusion.
All possibility - because death was inevitable, and
nothing was possible but death.
She did not want things to materialize, to take any definite shape. She wanted, suddenly, at one moment of the journey tomorrow, to be wafted into an utterly new course, by some unforeseen event, or motion."
-D.H. Lawrence,
Women in Love
The possibility of tomorrow
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