There are worse things you can do to people you love than kill them.

Maybe humans are just the pet alligators that God flushed down the toilet.

We are a nation of physical animals who have forgotten how much we enjoy being that. We are cushioned by this kind of make-believe, unreal world and have no idea what we can survive because we are never challenged or tested.

We're all trapped. It's always 1734. All of us, we're stuck in the same time capsule, the same as those television shows where the same people are marooned on the same desert island for thirty seasons and never age or escape. They just wear more makeup. In a creepy way, those shows are maybe too authentic.

I don't want to die without a few scars.

That's how a good story works. It changes how you feel. It brings you to a greater appreciation, a greater joy, of your own existence.

Now is the autumn of our ennui.