How life did imitate art sometimes. And the cruder the art, the closer the imitation.
Hemingway sucks. If I set out to write that way, it would have been been hollow and lifeless because it wasn't me.
Hearts are tough, Most times they don't break. Most times they are only bend
By and large... the good's an illusion, little fables folks tell themselves so they can get through their days without screaming too much.
We either learn to accept or we end up writing letters home with crayons.
God and the afterlife and all that is certainly a subject that's interested me, and I think it interests me more the older that I get.