What kind of dining set defines me as a person?

Some stories, you use up. Others use you up.

You think maybe if you just work harder and faster, you can hold off the chaos, but then one day you’re changing a patio light bulb with a five-year life span and you realize how you’ll only be changing this light maybe ten more times before you’ll be dead.

Some little part of themselves for someone in the future to discover. Maybe a thought. We were here. We built this. A reminder.

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

You don’t care where I live or how I feel, or what I eat or how I feed my kids or how I pay the doctor if I get sick, and yes I am stupid and bored and weak, but I am still your responsibility.

There's a moment in every book when the book turns and it surprises me.