my wild, uncured, erratic, incomprehensible heart.

I still wanted to know why. As though somebody was going to answer that for me, as though any answer would be satisfying.

Amor deliria nervosa isn't a disease of love. It's a disease of selfishness.

Life isn't life if you just float through it.

As Steve draws me closer to the band, all I can see is a frenzied mass of seething, writhing people, like a many-headed sea snake, grinding, waving their arms, stamping their feet, jumping. No rules, just energy - so much energy, you could harness it; I bet you could power Portland for a decade. It is more than a wave. It's a tide, an ocean of bodies.

It's like a razor blade edging its way through my organs, shredding me, all I can think is: It will kill me, it will kill me, it will kill me. And I don't care.

Things That Don't Matter When You've Lived the Same Day Six Times and Died on at Least Two of Them: Lunch meats and their relative coolness.