It's raining questions around here. A person could drown in them.

I learned another thing, which is that just because someone is eating the ashes of your protagonist doesn't mean you stop telling the story.

...and I put on "All My Love" and watched the sun rise yet again and thought thank you Robert Plant for all your love but do you have anymore?

But love, like a mushroom high compared with the buzz from cheap weed, outlasts grief.

I had a thought, on the way home from the rock field, that the things we don't know about a person are the things that make them human, and it made me feel sad to think that, but sad in that reassuring way that some sadness has, a sadness that says welcome home in twelve different languages.

It's raining questions around here. A person could drown in them.

Perhaps depression is caused by asking oneself too many unanswerable questions.