Truth Might Be Stranger Than

I Like Having My Own Story Remain My Story.

I Never Understood People Who Said Their Greatest Fear Was Public Speaking, Or Spiders, Or Any Of The Other Minor Terrors. How Could You Fear Anything More Than Death? Everything Else Offered Moments Of Escape: A Paralyzed Man Could Still Read Dickens; A Man In The Grips Of Dementia Might Have Flashes Of The Must Absurd Beauty.

That Is The Way We Decided To Talk, Free And Easy, Two Young Men Discussing A Boxing Match. That Was The Only Way To Talk. You Couldn't Let Too Much Truth Seep Into Your Conversation, You Couldn't Admit With Your Mouth What Your Eyes Had Seen. If You Opened The Door Even A Centimeter, You Would Smell The Rot Outside And Hear The Screams. You Did Not Open The Door. You Kept Your Mind On The Tasks Of The Day, The Hunt For Food And Water And Something To Burn, And You Saved The Rest For The End Of The War.

I'll Tell You A Secret. Something They Don't Teach You In Your Temple. The Gods Envy Us. They Envy Us Because We're Mortal, Because Any Moment Might Be Our Last. Everything Is More Beautiful Because We're Doomed. You Will Never Be Lovelier Than You Are Now. We Will Never Be Here Again.

She Leaned Forward And Kissed Me On The Lips. He Mouth Was Cold, Her Lips Rough From The Winter Wind, And If The Mystics Are Right And We Are Doomed To Repeat Our Squalid Lives Ad Infinitum, At Least I Will Always Return To That Kiss