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.

If I stay. If I live. It's up to me.

Hate me. Devastate me. Annihilate me. Re-create me. Re-create me. Won't you, won't you won't you re-create me.

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?

Sometimes you can't know until you know.

Whoever said that the past isn't dead had it backward. It's the future that's already dead, already played out.

We are like Humpty Dumpty and all these king's horses and all these king's men cannot put us back together again