Maybe Life Is Not About Accomplishing Some

But To Be Perfectly Frank, This Childish Idea That The Author Of A Novel Has Some Special Insight Into The Characters In The Novel ... It's Ridiculous. That Novel Was Composed Of Scratches On A Page, Dear. The Characters Inhabiting It Have No Life Outside Of Those Scratches. What Happened To Them? They All Ceased To Exist The Moment The Novel Ended.

How Strange And How Lovely It Is To Be Anything At All.

Night Falls Fast. Today Is The Past.

We Have Bottled All The Stars This Evening, My Young Friend.

I Just Want The Pleasure Of Noticing These Things At A Safe Distance.