It's starts out young- you try not be different just to survive- you try to be just like everyone else- anonymity becomes reflexive- and then one day you wake up and you've become all those other people- the others- the something you aren't. And you wonder if you can ever be what it is you really are. Or you wonder if it's too late to find out.

I know it's not cat food, but what exactly is it that they put inside of tinned ravioli?

Canadians can easily 'pass for American' as long as we don't accidentally use metric measurements or apologize when hit by a car.

I think writing would have happened to me anyway, somehow. Differently, but it still would have happened.

You can't get mad at weather because weather's not about you. Apply that lesson to most other aspects of life.

You wait for fate to bring about the changes in life which you should be bringing about by yourself.

Happy. And then I got afraid that it would vanish as quickly as it came. That it was accidental-- that I didn't deserve it. It's like this very, very nice car crash that never ends.