Hate is always a clash between our spirit and someone else's body.
The slowness of time, for a man who knows nothing will happen, is brutal.
The closing years of life are like the end of a masquerade party, when the masks are dropped.
No one ever lacks a good reason for suicide.
We do not remember days, we remember moments.
But here's the worst part: the trick to life lies in hiding from those we hold most dear how much they mean to is; if not, we'd lose them.