It takes two people to make a lie work: the person who tells it, and the one who believes it.

In this new place we've found, sometimes there aren't words, because the truth can be even more difficult than the lies.

Everyone has a story; everyone hides his past as a means of self-preservation. Some just do it better, and more thoroughly, than others.

When your existence is hell, death must be heaven.

Everytime I look at a zebra, I can't figure out whether it's black with white stripes or white with black stripes, and that frustrates me.

Risk always looks different when you're beating the system than when you've been beaten.

If it is possible to die of grief then why on earth can't someone be healed by happiness?