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

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

Life is lived on the inside. What's outside doesn't matter.

Let me fly, let me see things that are hidden from other eyes.

Strange how love coexists with hate, how they render eachother mute, how the swilling of them together makes a new and softer, sympathetic thing.

I thought about how stupid it is, that all of us are born destined to desire somebody else, though desire brings with it such disappointment and pain. Humankind's history must be scored bloody with heartbreak. This hankering for affection is a blight upon us.

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.