Your life is a blank page. You write on it.

The ambitions we have will become the stories we live.

They are lonely. I'm not talking about lonely for a lover or a friend. I mean lonely in the universal sense, lonely inside the understanding that we are tiny people on a tiny little earth suspended in an endless void that echoes past stars and stars of stars.

Half the time I don't know what I'm trying to say.

Sometimes the things we want most in life are the things that will kill us.

We live in a world where bad stories are told, stories that teach us life doesn't mean anything and that humanity has no great purpose. It's a good calling, then, to speak a better story. How brightly a better story shines. How easily the world looks to it in wonder. How grateful we are to hear these stories, and how happy it makes us to repeat them.

When you stop expecting people to be perfect, you can like them for who they are.