I wonder if it's ever really possible to know the truth about someone else, or if the best we can do is just stumble into each other, heads down, hoping to avoid collision. I...wonder how many people are clutching secrets like little fists, little rocks sitting in the pits of their stomachs. All of them, maybe.

people themselves are full of tunnels: winding, dark spaces and caverns; impossible to know all the places inside of them. Impossible even to imagine.

Is it possible to tell the truth in a society of lies? Or must you always, of necessity, become a liar?

Hearts are fragile things. That's why you have to be so careful.

willing me to understand: that people should be sacrificed to causes, that beauty can be built on the backs of the dead.

Amor deliria nervosa. The deadliest of all deadly things.

It's going to be okay. Words that mean nothing. really, just sounds intoned into vastness and darkness, little scrabbling attempts to latch on to something when we're falling.