Cursed is he who in fine weather waits for finer weather still. That is what you did, wretch. You knew to speak, yet remained silent — though you had occasion enough. Cursed was your silence.
We must work. We must make money. But more than that, Bella, we must experience everything. Not just the good, but degradation, horror, sadness. This makes us whole, Bella, makes us people of substance. Not flighty, untouched children. Then we can know the world. And when we know the world, the world is ours.