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

Give me lust, baby. Flash. Give me malice. Flash. Give me detached existentialist ennui. Flash. Give me rampant intellectualism as a coping mechanism. Flash.

Marla's philosophy of life, she told me, is that she can die at any moment. The tragedy of her life is that she doesn't.

I believe in something. But I don't believe that anything can hold a grudge for long enough to condemn its creation to eternal punishment. Nobody can hold a grudge that long, even God.

I say never be complete, I say stop being perfect, I say let... lets evolve, let the chips fall where they may.

When you don't share your problems, you resent hearing the problems of other people.

For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel peaceful. Not happy. Not sad. Not anxious. Not horny. Just all the higher parts of my brain closing up shop. The cerebral cortex. The cerebellum. That's where my problem is. I'm now simplifying myself. Somewhere balanced in the perfect middle between happiness and sadness. Because sponges never have a bad day.