Childhood feels so permanent, like it's the entire world, and then one day it's over and you're shoveling wet dirt onto your father's coffin, stunned at the impermanence of everything.

We don't stop loving people just because we hate them, but we don't stop hating them either.

What it must feel like, I thought, to look at something, anything really, and know that it’s for the last time?

↑ top up position down The fact that I suspect I'm an asshole means I probably am not, because a real asshole doesn't think he's an asshole, does he? Therefore, by realizing that I'm an asshole, I am in fact negating that very realization, am I not? Descartes's Asshole Axiom: I think I am; therefor I'm not one.

We all start out so damn sure, thinking we've got the world on a string. If we ever stopped to think about the infinite number of ways we could be undone, we'd never leave our bedrooms.

There are some people out there who don't wait for what come next. They decide what should come next and they go and make it happen.

I’m living in separate universes, and I have no idea where I actually belong.