No mat­ter how much I try and hide this, bit by bit, I start to fall apart.

It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.

It's not enough to be numbered with the grains of sand on the beach and the stars in the sky.

Tell the world what scares you most. Save the world with some advice from the future.

When we die, these are the stories still on our lips. The stories we’ll only tell strangers, someplace private in the padded cell of midnight. These important stories, we rehearse them for years in our head but never tell. These stories are ghosts, bringing people back from the dead. Just for a moment. For a visit. Every story is a ghost.

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

No, it's not fair, but what makes Earth feel like Hell is our expectation that it should feel like Heaven. Earth is earth. Dead is dead. You'll find out for yourself soon enough. It won't help the situation for you to get all upset.