Did perpetual happiness in the Garden of Eden maybe get so boring that eating the apple was justified?

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

We all die. The goal isn't to live forever, the goal is to create something that will.

This is how it is with insomnia. Everything is so far away, a copy of a copy of a copy. The insomnia distance of everything, you can't touch anything and nothing can touch you.

Telling some stories, Miss Leroy says, is committing suicide.

I need to rebel against myself. It's the opposite of following your bliss. I need to do what I most fear.

Everything you see is based on fact of a event thats already happen, Even light only travels so fast.