I Can't Say That I

The Interior Of A Teenager’s Mind Is An Endless War Between Stupid And Clever.

The Rest-the Vast Majority, Tens Of Thousands Of Days-are Unremarkable, Repetitive, Even Monotonous. We Glide Through Them Then Instantly Forget Them. We Tend Not To Think About This Arithmetic When We Look Back On Our Lives. We Remember The Handful Of Big Days And Throw Away The Rest. We Organize Our Long, Shapeless Lives Into Tidy Little Stories...but Our Lives Are Mostly Made Up Of Junk, Of Ordinary, Forgettable Days, And 'the End' Is Never The End.

We Move Through Time Like A Man In A Rowboat, Looking Back Even As We Move Forward.

Predisposition Is Not Predestination.

There Are Many More Ways To Be Attractive Than To Be Beautiful.