Perhaps that is our doom, our human curse, to never really know one another.
If I had faced it then, I wouldn't be facing it now, but sooner or later you have to choose between running and facing the thing you thought you could not face.
To hold on, you have to find something you’re willing to die for.
Why did they come billions of miles just to stare at us? It's rude.
Tampons. I’m constantly worrying about my stash and if I’ll be able to find more.
Perhaps God waits for us to be empty, so he may fill us with himself.