Routine kills creative thought.

Homeopathy seemed . . . both mathematical and poetic.

I erased the thought from my mind, but I couldn't undo the fact that I'd had the thought in the first place.

Sometimes you have to trust grownups, perhaps more so when they are not there to actually supervise you.

But I quite like the way you can talk about science without necessarily using mathematics, but using metaphors instead.

I hate stereotypes and I hate cliche.

I pray for meaning. I pray for the limits of reality to become clear. For a world – and a type of being – that makes sense. I pray for a life after death that is not like this life. I pray for the end of mystery. What would a life be like with all the mysteries solved? If there were no questions, there’d be no stories. If there were no stories, there’d be no language. If there was no language there’d be no . . . What?