If goodness can't come from bad things, it makes bad things unbearable.

What a strange phrase — –not seeing other people. As if it’s been constructed to be a lie. We see other people all the time. The question is what we do about it.

The boy I loved didn't know I existed. Then again, he was obsessed with Camus, so he didn't know if any of us existed.

There is the sudden. There is the eventual. And in between, there is the living.

There are all these moments you don't think you will survive. And then you survive.

The word I think of is precarious. I am struck by how precarious it all is. How the things that hold us are only as strong as the faith we have in them.

That's what the voices in your head are for, to get you through the silent parts.