There are so many moments to remember and sometimes I think that maybe we're not really people at all. Maybe moments are what we are.... Sometimes I just survive. But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.

I am hunted by humans.

It’s the leftover humans. The survivors. They’re the ones I can’t stand to look at, although on many occasions I still fail. I deliberately seek out the colors to keep my mind off them, but now and then, I witness the ones who are left behind, crumbling among the jigsaw puzzle of realization, despair, and surprises. They have punctured hearts. They have beaten lungs. Which in turn brings me to the subject I am telling you about tonight, or today, or whatever the hour and color. It’s the story of one of those perpetual survivors –an expert at being left behind.

It's a lot easier, she realized, to be on the verge of something than to actually be it. This would still take time.

Have you ever noticed that idiots have a lot of friends? It's just an observation.

Only hearts... They're in the inside of the inside of me.

An attribute of Rosa Hubermann, she was a good woman for a crisis.