What a culture we live in, we are swimming in an ocean of information, and drowning in ignorance.

Can you ever forgive me? I already have. How could you? I don't deserve it. That's what makes it love.

Like all living things, love, too, struggles against hardship, and in the process sheds its fatuous skin to expose one composed of more than just a storm of emotion-one of loyalty and divine friendship. And though it may be temporarily blinded by adversity, it never gives in or up, holding tight to lofty ideals that transcend this earth and time- while its counterfeit simply concludes it was mistaken and quickly runs off to find the next real thing.

In the end, we all lose it. Remember that. In the end, we own nothing.

We stone our prophets, then build monuments to them after they're gone.

Those willing to trade freedom for certainty are certain to find the cure worse than the ailment.

We carry around in our heads these pictures of what our lives are supposed to look like, painted by the brush of out intentions. It's the great, deep secret of humanity that in the end none of our lives look the way we thought they would. As much as we wish to believe otherwise, most of life is a reaction to circumstances.