In a way, “failure” is just another word for “the journey,” for not being there yet but on the way. It’s the road we walk on to get wherever it is we’re trying to go.

No one measures a life in weeks and days. You measure life in years and by the things that happen to you.

It's as if once you hit high school, you're programmed, like a robot, to be an asshole to your parents.

It's like a Venn diagram of tragedy.

Can it really be love if we don't talk that much, don't see each other? Isn't love something that happens between people who spend time together and know each other's faults and take care of each other?...In the end, I decide that the mark we've left on each other is the color and shape of love.

Forgetting isn't enough. You can paddle away from the memories and think they are gone. But they will keep floating back, again and again and agian. They circle you, like sharks. Until, unless, something, someone? Can do more than just cover the wound.

There's a lot that is awful. That's the struggle of getting old. To make sure you don't let what's hard...obscure the beauty.