I Am A Giant Squid Of Anger.

What About The Rest Of Your Life?" She Shrugged. "what About It?" "aren't You Worried About, Like, Forever?" "forever Is Composed Of Nows," She Says.

You Do Not Immortalize The Lost By Writing About Them. Language Buries, But Does Not Resurrect.

She Had The Kind Of Eyes That Predisposed You To Supporting Her Every Endeavor.

Without Pain, How Could We Know Joy?

I Think Inspiration Is Always Around; It's Just A Question Of Whether Or Not You're Noticing It.