I also felt guilty about the three pens I'd stolen, but only for a second. And since there was no convenient way to give them back, I stole a bottle of ink before I left.

Then I played the song that hides in the center of me. That wordless music that moves through the secret places in my heart. I played it carefully, strumming it slow and low into the dark stillness of the night. I would like to say it is a happy song, that it is sweet and bright, but it is not.

Death was like an unpleasant neighbor. You didn’t talk about him for fear he might hear you and decide to pay a visit.

After a certain point is reached the numbers cease to matter, and all that remains is the faceless mass of a crowd.

Good lord woman. If i had tits like yours I'd own half the world by now.

All explicit knowledge is translated knowledge, and all translation is imperfect.

Its like he knows he's better than you, but doesn't look down on you for it because he knows it's not your fault.