Failed love would make us kill, failed luck would make us kill, failed justice would make us kill. Anger would make us kill, envy would make us kill, idealism would make us kill, sorrow would make us kill. But we are saved by song. We sing and we hear song, and we understand and we forgive, and our great happiness slowly drains out of us, like pus from a boil and we sheathe our knives and bury our axes, and we are saved.
Tarun Tejpal, The Valley of Masks.
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