What good are insights? They only make things worse.

Nights without beginning that had no end. Talking about a past as if it'd really happened. Telling themselves that this time next year, this time next year, things were going to be different.

There is no answer. It's okay. But even if it wasn't okay, what am I supposed to do?

It ought to make us feel ashamed when we talk like we know what we're talking about when we talk about love.

When a reader finishes a wonderful story and lays it aside, he should have to pause for a minute and collect himself.

There was this funny thing of anything could happen now that we realized everything had.

All of us, all of us, all of us trying to save our immortal souls, some ways seemingly more round about and mysterious than others. We are having a good time here. But hope all will be revealed soon.