The Dilbert blog is sometimes bizarre, sometimes lewd, and always funny and smart. Until now.

I want to find a place to cry my heart out.

For a cat.

A few years ago, Robert Scoble wrote about his mother’s passing away in a series of extremely painfully beautiful pieces. I can’t find one central post (there’s probably none due to Scoble’s personal and free-flowing style), so here’s the moment of truth.

阮一峰 wrote about the passing of someone’s wife, whom he only knew via email. Here’s the beautiful James Joyce ending of The Dead that he quoted. BTW I don’t like his habit of interleaving English and Chinese translation as it breaks the flow of both.

(S)now was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

Till death do us apart, I promise to live and love.

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