When the end comes, I hope it’s as strange as that. I hope that the sky tears open and the world is washed with colors that we’ve never seen before.

Memories are like everything else. They're a trap.

And when our sun explodes and we are all destroyed, we'll be rocks and chunks of I am not sure what, and maybe we'll rain down on somewhere else.

Satellite images, maps and blueprints of the whole world, of every city. We could look it up and know what's there in someone else's words. Or we could get wicked drunk and just go.

I have a form of ESP that allows me to consistently pick losing lottery numbers, and generally make poor life choices.

I never wanted anything to happen to my parents, but a hero needs an origin story.

I'd rather die terrified than live forever.