quantity keeps life’s qualities from happening all at once
Not all the apples fell, but most of the fallen were eaten by crows with a fondness for sugar.
Some rolled as far as the driveway, slowly picking up speed. Down the hill, onto the street.
None of them made it across, although one fell into the stream and floated away, far and alone.
I’ve had an apple from each tree. I can eat any from all of them, but not all from any.
You may pick apples off the tree. Any one or a bushel. Some or many, but not all.
The wind tries to take them all, and you can see what it is left with. Not all or any, but not a one.
