Am I such a bad person for dreaming of a world that ends when I do? I don't mean the world ending with respect to me, but every set of eyes closing with mine.

It’s hard to say goodbye to the place you’ve lived. It can be as hard as saying goodbye to a person.

She was a genius of sadness, immersing herself in it, separating its numerous strands, appreciating its subtle nuances. She was a prism through which sadness could be divided into its infinite spectrum.

I was more alone than if I had been alone.

I know you look both ways before you cross the street, but I want you to look both ways a second time, because I told you to.

He promised us that everything would be okay. I was a child, but I knew that everything would not be okay. That did not make my father a liar. It made him my father.

What is being awake if not interpreting our dreams, or dreaming if not interpreting our wake?