When I think of God I feel like an ant crawling into a computer.
I don't think it is as much a human foible as it is a human curse that we cannot understand the beauty of a thing until it is gone.
Could it be that to truly love a thing is not to desire it, but to desire happiness for it?
Forgiveness is the key to the heart's shackles.
There's no problem so big that whining won't make it worse.
I suppose I have an active imagination, and writing allows me to live it out.