In the candle, the essential is not the wax, but the light.
One time, when he was a child, in a power-failure, his mother had found and lit a last candle and there had been a brief hour of rediscovery, of such illumination that space lost its vast dimensions and drew comfortably around them, and they, mother and son, alone, transformed, hoping that the power might not come on again too soon....
You can't ever find a place that's nice and peaceful, because there isn't any. You may think there is, but once you get there, when you're not looking, somebody'll sneak up and write «Fuck you» right under your nose. Try it sometime. I think, even, if I ever die, and they stick me in a cemetery, and I have a tombstone and all, it'll say «Holden Caulfield» on it, and then what year I was born and what year I died, and then right under that it'll say «Fuck you». I'm positive, in fact.
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It's always darkest before the dawn.
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Well, once, there was only dark. If you ask me, the light's winning.