the realization that
each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as
your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends,
routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that
continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep
underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other
lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might
appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the
background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a
lighted window at dusk. ~John Koenig, Dictionary of Obscure
Sorrows
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