...and time becomes a forgotten detail.

There are a lot of memories we imagine. We play them over and over in our minds, trying to orchestrate our movements and words to perfection. Or maybe it's just that I've lived inside of my head more than any other person in the history of the world. Maybe none of us can really predict how we will act at any give moment. Maybe we're all at the mercy of circumstance in spite of our well-laid plans.

A single gentle rain makes the grass many shades greener. So our prospects brighten . . .

Picture yourself five years from now. Where do you want to be? Remember that. Every day. That's how you'll get there.

How can you be sure?" "I'm a doctor, Jenna. And a scientist." "Does that make you an authority on everything? What about a soul, Father? When you were so busy implanting all your neural chips, did you think about that? Did you snip my soul from my old body, too? Where did you put it? Show me! Where? Where in all this groundbreaking technology did you insert my soul?

Maybe staying on the surface keeps her from returning to a place where she can't breathe.

I suppose you're right about some perspectives. Just a few weeks ago, I thought you were a dickhead.