I don't want five hundred billion neural chips. I want guts.

Escape is not about moving from one place to another. It's about becoming more.

It can take years to mold a dream. It takes only a fraction of a second for it to be shattered.

Which weakness shall I tell her? “I walk funny,” I say, and she’s satisfied with that. (inside joke)

Pieces. A bit for someone here. A bit there. And sometimes they don't add up to anything whole. But you are so busy dancing. Delivering. You don't have time to notice. Or are afraid to notice. And then one day you have to look. And it's true. All of your pieces fill up other people's holes. But they don't fill your own.

Things I can feel. Hard. Soft. Rough. Smooth. But the inside kind of feel, it is all the same, like foggy mush. Is that the part of me that is still asleep? (9)

But I am more than a name. More than they tell me