Why can’t the world hear? I ask myself. Within a few moments I ask it many times. Because it doesn’t care, I finally answer, and I know I’m right. It’s like I’ve been chosen. But chosen for what? I ask.

The paper landed on the table, but the news was stapled to his chest. A tattoo.

Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are.

Imagine smiling after a slap in the face. Then think of doing it twenty-four hours a day.

Clearly," said Arthur,"you're an idiot- but you're our kind of idiot. Come on.

And then there's the sickness I feel from looking at legs I can't touch, or at lips that don't smile at me. Or hips that don't reach for me. And hearts that don't beat for me.

July 24, 6:03 A.M. The laundry was warm and the rafters were firm, and Michael Holzapfel jumped from the chair as if it were a cliff... Michael Holzapfel knew what he was doing. He killed himself for wanting to live.