The past is made out of facts...I guess the future is just hope.

It's not like I'm such a shiny happy person either, you know? I'm a wreck too, I'm just... still alive.

Once you've arrived at the end of the world, it hardly matters which route you took.

I'm not a general or a colonel or a builder of cities. I'm just a corpse who wants not to be.

I wonder how well she sleeps at night, and what kind of dreams she has. I wish I could step into them like she steps into mine.

I feel the flatline of my existence disrupting, forming heartbeat hills and valleys

I can feel it... the chance to start over, to live right, to love right, to burn up in a fiery cloud and never again be buried in the mud.