He is no longer mine to lose, but the grief is there, a gnawing sense of disbelief.

In a world without love, this is what people are to each other: values, benefits, and liabilities, numbers and data. We weigh, we quantify, we measure, and the soul is ground to dust.

We stand there for a moment, looking at each other, and in that instant I feel our connection so strongly it's as though it achieves physical existence, becomes a hand all around us, cupping us together, protecting us. This is what people are always talking about when they talk about god: this feeling, of being held and understood and protected. feeling this way seems about as close to saying a prayer as you could get.

Popularity's a weird thing. You can't really define it, and it's not cool to talk about, but you know it when you see it. Like a lazy eye, or porn.

The priests and the scientists are right about one thing: At our heart, at our base, we are no better than animals.

We can never understand. We can only try, fumbling our way through the tunneled places, reaching for light.

This is the past: It drifts, it gathers. If you are not careful, it will bury you.