She had to find her own story, and she could make it whatever shape she thought best.

You show me what someone listens to, I’ll tell you everything you want to know about his soul. (For instance, a bunch of Nickelback albums would have indicated he never had a soul in the first place.)

...Coca-Cola and fries, the wafer and wine of the Western religion of commerce.

If the bears don't get you, it's home.

As for monkeys, I would have five, and they would be named: See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil, Do Pretty Much Whatever The Hell You Want, and Expensive Attorney.

So we face our final hours...and all that was once certain has become uncertain. Except for defeat. That, as always, is the end of all our stories.

Sleep. To lie down and shut out the noise, the fear, the unceasing misery.