Beyond the window, some kind of small, black thing shot across the sky. A bird, possibly. Or it might have been someone's soul being blown to the far side of the world.

The pure present is an ungraspable advance of the past devouring the future. In truth, all sensation is already memory.

It was a strange feeling, like touching a void.

We were young, and we had no need for prophecies. Just living was itself an act of prophecy.

It's the same with menus and men and just about anything else: we think we're choosing things for ourselves, but in fact we may not be choosing anything. It could be that everthing's being decided in advance and we pretend we're making choices. Free will may be an illusion. I often think that.

Everything has boundaries. the same holds true with thought. you shouldn't fear boundaries, but you also should not be afraid of destroying them. that's what is most important if you want to be free: respect for and exasperation with boundaries. what's really important in life is always the things that are secondary.

No matter how honestly you open up to someone, there are still things you cannot reveal.