Adults need more complex narratives. They have their own narratives. The main characters are themselves.

And it came to me then. That we were wonderful traveling companions but in the end no more than lonely lumps of metal in their own separate orbits. From far off they look like beautiful shooting stars, but in reality they're nothing more than prisons, where each of us is locked up alone, going nowhere. When the orbits of these two satellites of ours happened to cross paths, we could be together. Maybe even open our hearts to each other. But that was only for the briefest moment. In the next instant we'd be in absolute solitude. Until we burned up and became nothing.

Something inside me had dropped away, and nothing came in to fill the cavern.

Even chance meetings are the result of karma… Things in life are fated by our previous lives. That even in the smallest events there’s no such thing as coincidence.

Have you ever had that feeling—that you’d like to go to a whole different place and become a whole different self?

As with marathon runs and lengths of toilet paper, there had to be standards to measure up to.

A theory is a battlefield in your head.