There’s something very freeing about losing the anchors that have always defined you. Frightening, sad, but exhilarating in a poignant way, as well. You’re free to float to the moon and evaporate or sink to the bottom of the deepest ocean. But you’re free to explore. Some people confuse that with drifting, I suppose. I like to think of it as growing.

We are all bodies of water, guarding the mystery of our depths, but some of us have more to guard than others.

Instead of fearing what might happen if I failed, I should be excited about what could happen if I succeeded!

There's no linear narrative - the structure is more like a series of variations on a theme (how identity is shaped by language), with the past constantly bleeding into the present, dreams into reality. And the language, while incredibly lyrical in places, also has this underlying dissonance, the sense of it having itself been translated.

Life doesn't take itself seriously for long. Joy leaves an imprint even in the hardest sorrow.

What do you call love, then?" Someone I can't live without.

Happy people look young. You’re really afraid of getting older, aren’t you? You should only be afraid of getting less happy.