Try to give up a little bit of violence every day, just a little, and day by day it will get easier to love everybody.

The hardest surface to clean is the one we look through. Most of what we call hatred is just dust we have stopped noticing — old reflexes smeared so thin and so even that we mistake the grime for the glass itself. We do not have to scour it all away in a single pass; that pressure cracks more mirrors than it clears. We only have to wipe one small circle today, set down one weapon we were carrying out of habit, and let tomorrow widen the opening on its own. Strange how, as the surface clears, the face on the other side starts to look a great deal like our own. What small violence could we lay down before the day is over?