“You are not surprised when I tell you a spotted hyena at the zoo is killing itself, gnawed from paw to knee, and no one can figure out why it wants to destroy itself. You tell me you found a coyote's leg in a spring trap once. You knew that an animal, in its wildness, would chew through its tendons, snap its own bones. There are parts of ourselves we can learn to live without. You tell me about a woman you saw today, a despair you recognized through her veil, and you'd wondered why, in grief, it's necessary to hide your face, if death leaves its teeth marks on our cheeks. I wonder if hunger is stronger than grief and tell you that if a cuttlefish is starving, it will eat one of its three hearts. And I wonder if, after they offered their bodies to their father, Ugolino's sons cried as they crawled around him in the dark, if, before he took his hand away from his mouth and strangled them, he studied them, deciding if his teeth were strong enough to eat through the red fever of the body. When I look at you, I know you're right. What matters is what's left of us.”