I Don't Know How Many

If You Think Of Someone Enough, You’re Sure To Meet Them Again.

There's No Such Thing As Perfect Writing, Just Like There's No Such Thing As Perfect Despair.

But This Thing, Whatever It Was, This Mistlike Something, Hung There Inside My Body Like A Certain Kind Of Potential. I Wanted To Give It A Name, But The Word Refused To Come To Mind. I’m Terrible At Finding The Right Words For Things. I’m Sure Tolstoy Would Have Been Able To Come Up With Exactly The Right Word

That's Evolution. Evolution's Always Hard. Hard And Bleak. No Such Thing As Happy Evolution

It Seems To Me That Very Sad Things Always Contain An Element Of The Comical