Words on the page are never prisoners of the page

Words on the page are never prisoners of the page

Love is like moonlight or thunder, or rain on a tin roof in the middle of the night; it is one of those things in life that is truly worth knowing.

I would always be lonely, but no more alone.

Every atom in me feels composed of lead. This is what dying is: a pull to the ground.

How does one craft happiness out of something as important, as complicated, as unrepeatable and as easily damaged as life?

I suppose that's what happens when you make other people's lives miserable: life gets miserable back at you.