I hated myself for going, why couldn't I be the kind of person who stays?

I spent my life learning to feel less.

The books could be completely worthless, and things we don't even read now could be considered the most important books.

Why didn't I learn to treat everything like it was the last time. My greatest regret was how much I believed in the future.

What's so horrible about being dead forever, and not feeling anything, and not even dreaming? What's so great about feeling and dreaming?

The Eskimos have four hundred words for snow, and the Jewshave four hundred for schmuck.

Sometimes people who seem good end up being not as good as you might have hoped, you know?