The heart itself is beyond control. That is its power, and its weakness.

Your childhood hunger is the one that never leaves you.

I liked his voice, rich and unself-conscious even when he forgot words and hummed to fill in the gap. What I didn't understand, I imagined, and thus it became a love song.

Everyone has a story. I don't believer anyone can go through life without encountering at least one amazing thing.

Fenugreek, Tuesday's spice, when the air is green like mosses after rain.

I guess there's a lot we hope for that never happens.

Chili, spice of red Thursday, which is the day of reckoning. Day which invites us to pick up the sack of our existence and shake it inside out. Day of suicide, day of murder.