Hearts got broken every day. Nobody died from that. But it did kind of fade the sunlight and drain the color from the days.

I'm not insane. This is very simple, very straightforward. Provided he doesn't kill me, its foolproof.

When you live with a potentially life-threatening condition you get used to the thought of dying. You accept it, you push on. The thing that scared me was the picture of dying slowly and painfully, the loss of independence and identity to illness.

He never lied to me. I just didn't ask the questions I didn't want to know the answers to.

The battle rages eternal, though the race, religion, gender or sexual orientation of those discriminated against changes regularly. Maybe man’s need for a scapegoat is genetically programmed into him.

How did people get over this? They obviously did. Every day someone fell in love with the wrong person and had to pack up all their fragile, misguided hopes and unwanted affection, and move on to the next picnic table.

I don't know if real courage lies in storming barricades or simply not denying the truth.