Life is, to some extent, an extended dialogue with your future self about how exactly you are going to let yourself down over the coming years.

You want to tell a story? Grow a heart. Grow two. Now, with the second heart, smash the first one into bits.

If I could be half the person my dog is, I'd be twice the human I am.

There is a sense in which I am pretty sure this makes no sense. I don't know where this is going. I don't know how it ends.

This is what I say: I've got good news and bad news. The good news is, you don't have to worry, you can't change the past. The bad news is, you don't have to worry, no matter how hard you try, you can't change the past. The universe just doesn't put up with that. We aren't important enough. No one is. Even in our own lives. We're not strong enough, willful enough, skilled enough in chronodiegetic manipulation to be able to just accidentally change the entire course of anything, even ourselves.

You haven’t experienced awkwardness until you’ve seen a three-million-dollar piece of software cry.

Time is a machine: it will convert your pain into experience... It will force you to move on and you will not have a choice in the matter.