Even if it’s a dumb story, telling it changes people just the slightest little bit, just as living the story changes me. An infinitesimal change. And that infinetisimal change ripples outward —ever smaller but everlasting. I will get forgotten, but the stories will last. And so we all matter —maybe less than a lot, but always more than none.

The sky is like a monochromatic contemporay painting, drawing me in its illusion of depth, pulling me up.

You're funny, and you're smart, and you may show up late, but you always show up eventually.

Life has become the future.

That's the thing about pain, it demands to be felt.

Were she better or you sicker, then the stars would not be so terribly crossed, but it is the nature of the stars to cross.

This squirrel is inadequately afraid of humans! Squirrel, I am a threat to you! We are enemies! Please get off my bench! Oh, god! Oh, god! Don't touch me—oh, god!