I see no reason not to write whatever comes to me.

The best thing about time passing is the privilege of running out of it, of watching the wave of mortality break over me and everyone I know.

Look at me, dancing my little dance for a few moments against the background of eternity.

Experience in itself wasn’t enough. The diary was my defense against waking up at the end of my life and realizing I’d missed it.

The more you talk about something, the less accurate it gets.

My existence shrank from an arrow of light pointing into the future forever to a speck of light that was the present moment. I got better at living in that point of light, making the world into that point. I paid close attention to it. I loved it very much.

This is suffering's lesson: pay attention. The important part might come in a form you do not recognize.