You see, life only turns out good or bad for only a little bit. And then it turns out some other way.

There are only patterns. Patterns on top of patterns, patterns that affect other patterns, patterns hidden by patterns, patterns within patterns.

Nothing feels as awful as pouring your heart out to some talk therapist, then realizing this so-called professional is actually vastly stupid and you've just professed your most secret secrets to some goon who's wearing one brown sock and one blue sock.

First your parents, they give you your life, but then they try to give you their life.

Stanislavski was right, you can find fresh pain every time you discover what you pretty much already know.

Everyone smiles with that invisible gun to their head.

This deluded little rube who really thought the future would be any better. If you just worked hard enough. If you just learned enough. Ran fast enough. Everything would turn out right, and your life would amount to something.