But it's not about knowing. It is simply about going forward.

But for now, the future, like the past, means nothing. For now, there is only a homestead built of trash and scraps, at the edge of a broken city, just beyond a towering city dump; and our arrival-hungry, and half-frozen, to a place of food and water and walls that keep out the brutal winds. This, for us, is heaven.

Is this freedom? Is it happiness? I don't know. I don't care anymore. It is different--it is being alive.

It is war now, and armies need symbols.

Human beings, in their natural state, are unpredictable, erratic, and unhappy. It is only once their animal instincts are controlled that they can be responsible, dependable, and content.

But that's the problem with love - it acts on you, works through you, resists your attempts to control.

The salt blowing off the sea makes the air feel textured and heavy.