We cannot defend freedom abroad by deserting it at home.

If you're in pitch blackness$$$ all you can do is sit tight until your eyes get used to the dark

A certain type of perfection can only be realized through a limitless accumulation of the imperfect.

Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.

People leave strange little memories of themselves behind when they die.

Loneliness becomes an acid that eats away at you.

Ive built a wall around me$$$ never letting anybody inside and trying not to venture outside myself

What I was chasing in circles must have been the tail of the darkness inside me.

It was as if I were writing letters to hold together the pieces of my crumbling life.

I don't know what it means to live.