All the effort in the world won't matter if you're not inspired.
It's so quiet this high up, the feeling you get is that you're one of those space monkeys. You do the little job you're trained to do. Pull a lever. Push a button. You don't understand any of it, and then you just die.
These days, most of the people you hear laughing are dead.
Everyone has something wrong. And for a while, her heart just sort of flat lined.
In the end, it's never what you worry about that gets you.
History is nothing except monsters or victims. Or witnesses.