There's an opposite to déjà vu. They call it jamais vu. It's when you meet the same people or visit places, again and again, but each time is the first. Everybody is always a stranger. Nothing is ever familiar.

I hate how I don't feel real enough unless people are watching.

Everything is funnier in retrospect, funnier and prettier and cooler. You can laugh at anything from far enough away.

These days, most of the people you hear laughing are dead.

It's funny how you never think about the women you've had. It's always the ones who get away that you can't forget.

You gain power by pretending to be weak.

Think of a rock polisher, one of those drums, goes round and round, rolls twenty-four/seven, full of water and rocks and gravel. Grinding it all up. Round and round. Polishing those ugly rocks into gemstones. That’s the earth. Why it goes around. We’re the rocks. And what happens to us—the drama and pain and joy and war and sickness and victory and abuse—why, that’s just the water and sand to erode us. Grind us down. To polish us up, nice and bright.