In contravention of my belief that any life ending in death is essentially pointless, I needed my friends to open up that plastic bag and take one last look at me. Someone had to remember me, if only for a few more minutes in the vast silent waiting room of time.

It is a capital insult in this country not to make love to a naked woman, even if she is related to you.

The love I felt for her on that train ride had a capital and provinces, parishes and a Vatican, an orange planet and many sullen moons -- it was systemic and it was complete.

Reading is difficult. People just aren't meant to read anymore. We're in a post-literate age. You know, a visual age. How many years after the fall of Rome did it take for a Dante to appear? Many, many years.

Let's see if I can write about something other than my heart.

We are now part of this giant machine where every second we have to take out a device and contribute our thoughts and opinions.

You are not what you want. You are what wants you back.