I think about how we can't always live in the moment because moments pass, and when we're lucky, we have the kind of moments that we can't help wanting to go back to. We think about them, remember how they felt, and when more time passes we tell stories of these moments that are worth reliving.

The Little Drummer Boy was playing in the background for what seemed like the third time in a row. I fought off an urge to beat that Little Drummer Boy senseless with his own drumsticks.

I have a theory that as long as you have one good friend, one real friend, you can get through anything.

We sat looking out at the ocean. There was just so much of it, and it never failed to take my breath away. Looking at the ocean gave me the same sensation I'd get staring at a sky full of stars- that I was small. Like the way a math problem reveals its undeniable truth, I knew when I stared into this sort of endlessness that my life didn't count for much of anything. And knowing that, that I was nothing but a speck, I felt pretty lucky for all that I had.

They're just words. And words alone don't really mean anything. It's what you feel and what you believe when you say them that matter.

There's no going back from what happened. You can go back and understand the past, but you can't go back and change it.

Precision about language can be really, really annoying. It can make you miss the point of what the other person is saying altogether.