Years bleach away the sense of things until all that's left is a bone-white past, stripped of feeling and significance.

Right and wrong can be like bloody snakes: so tangled up that you can't tell which is which until you've shot 'em both, and then it's too late.

Nature allowed only the fit and the lucky to share this paradise-in-the-making.

To have any kind of a future you've got to give up hope of ever changing your past.

The isolation spins its mysterious cocoon, focusing the mind on one place, one time, one rhythm - the turning of the light. The island knows no other human voices, no other footprints. On the Offshore Lights you can live any story you want to tell yourself, and no one will say you're wrong: not the seagulls, not the prisms, not the wind.

Oh, but my treasure, it is so much less exhausting. You only have to forgive once. To resent, you have to do it all day, every day. You have to keep remembering all the bad things.

Scars are just another kind of memory.