Killing time is not an easy job.

You can hide as cleverly as you like, but in the final analysis mimicry is deception, pure and simple. It doesn't solve a thing.

So this was how secrets got started, I thought to myself. People constructed them little by little.

The problem was, I think, that the places I fit in were always falling behind the rimes.

Even if you don't acknowledge it, people die, and guys sleep with girls. That's just how it is.

For a long time, she held a special place in my heart. I kept this special place just for her, like a "Reserved" sign on a quiet corner table in a restaurant. Despite the fact that I was sure I'd never see her again.

And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.