Time was passing like a hand waving from a train I wanted to be on. I hope you never have to think about anything as much as I think about you.

Life was a small negative space cut out of the eternal solidity, and for the first time, it felt precious - not like all of the words that had come to mean nothing, but like the last breath of a drowning victim.

There has yet to be a human to survive a span of history without at least one end of the world.

Why didn't he say goodbye? I gave myself a bruise. Why didn't he say 'I love you'?

The bruises go away, and so does how you hate, and so does the feeling that everything you receive from life is something you have earned.

He was not such a special person. He loved to read very much, and also to write. He was a poet, and he exhibited me many of his poems. I remember many of them. They were silly, you could say, and about love. He was always in his room writing those things, and never with people. I used to tell him, What good is all that love doing on paper? I said, Let love write on you for a little. But he was so stubborn. Or perhaps he was only timid.

If we communicated with something like music, we would never be misunderstood, because there is nothing in music to understand...... But until we find this new way of speaking, until we can find a nonapproximate vocabulary, nonsense words are the best thing we've got. Ifactifice is one such word.