You buy furniture. You tell yourself, this is the last sofa I will ever need in my life. Buy the sofa, then for a couple years you're satisfied that no matter what goes wrong, at least you've got your sofa issue handled. Then the right set of dishes. Then the perfect bed. The drapes. The rug. Then you're trapped in your lovely nest, and the things you used to own, now they own you.

They assume she was once gorgeously beautiful. Because now she looks so—bad.

Are these things really better than the things I already have? Or am I just trained to be dissatisfied with what I have now?

Here in your mind you have complete privacy. Here there's no difference between what is and what could be.

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

It’s weird to think the place where we’re standing will only be a point in the sky.

A good story should make you laugh, and a moment later break your heart.