It was like that all the time, in those years: an endless trip, a gaudy voyage. But powers decay. Time leaches the colors from the best of visions. The world becomes grayer. Entropy beats us down. Everything fades. Everything goes. Everything dies.

Living, we fret. Dying, we live. I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll be of good cheer.

Ignorance can't be pardoned. Only cured.

Never pass by a chance to shut up.

Thus does the unyielding, inescapable future ineluctably devour the present.

I find the world and all it contains extremely fascinating. Is this sinful?

When you know that something is dying inside you, you learn not to put much trust in the random vitalities of the fleeting moment.