Something given, something taken away. Does it always have to work like that?

Because I understand all the ways of trying to escape, how sometimes you escape one prison only to find you've built yourself a different one.

I don’t discount a magical hand of fate. I am an actor, after all, and a Shakespearian, no less. But it can’t be the ruling force of your life. You have to be the driver.

I like French fries," I say. I like French fries? I sound like a slow child in a made-for-TV movie.

Do you do that a lot? Move on?" "Maybe. But only because I travel a lot." She taps put a beat on the steering wheel, audible only to herseld. "Or maybe you travel a lot because it lets you move on." "Perhaps." ........ I look out the window. The jungle is everywhere. I look back at her. "Can you move on from something when you're not sure what it is you're moving on from?

And yes, it was a high school romance, but it was still the kind of romance where I thought we were trying to find a way to make it forever.

Is that what death would feel like? The nicest, warmest, heaviest never-ending nap? If that’s what it’s like, I wouldn’t mind.