Death is not a tragedy, but the unbearable pain of losing someone is. Madness is not a tragedy, but the malicious thought of the sound mind is. The desolate life of a broken man is a tragedy. The barren earth, which used to teem with green vegetation, is a tragedy. But what is a tragedy if there’s no beauty can sprout from it. Even the moon, despite its lifeless cratered darkness, emits luminous beauty at night. You see, the transcendent beauty in the human soul, in art or poetry—amid its unambiguous allure—is born out of tragedy. (Danny Castillones Sillada, The Sublime Beauty in Tragedy)
