the year she had run fleetly through the dewy grass under the moon- the night of wine, when dreams condensed out of thin air like the nightmilk of fantasy.

Dreams age faster than dreamers.

We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones.

That was what I wanted, but I don't need it to be gone. I can love you and I can love life and bear the pain all at the same time. I think the pain might even make the rest better, the way a good setting can make a diamond look better.

Your Plan and the stuff that comes out of my asshole bear a suspicious resemblance to each other.

Your hair is winter fire January embers My heart burns there, too.

She nods. You're good for the ones you love. You want to be good for the ones you love, because you know that your time with them will end up being too short, no matter how long it is.