Woke up this morning with a terrific urge to lie in bed all day and read.
In short, everything about his life was different for him at the bottom of that well.
There is no God, and conversation is a dying art.
What good are insights? They only make things worse.
I’d like to go out in the front yard and shout something. “None of this is worth it!” That’s what I’d like people to hear.
All this, all of this love we're talking about, it would just be a memory. Maybe not even a memory. Am I wrong? Am I way off base? Because I want you to set me straight if you think I'm wrong. I want to know. I mean, I don't know anything, and I'm the first one to admit it.