If you want everything to be nice and straight all the time, then go live in a world made with a triungular ruler.

We never choose anything at all. Things happen. Or not.

Learning another language is like becoming another person.

You know what girls are like. They turn twenty or twenty-one and all of a sudden they start having these concrete ideas. They get super realistic. And when that happens, everything that seemed so sweet and lovable about them begins to look ordinary and depressing.

Those were strange days, now that I look back at them. In the midst of life, everything revolved around death.

No matter where i go, i still end up me. What's missing never changes. The scenery may change, but i'm still the same incomplete person. The same missing elements torture me with a hunger that i can never satisfy. I think that lack itself is as close as i'll come to defining myself.

No matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away.