There Are Two Types Of People In

I Opened My Mouth, But Nothing Came Out. It Took Seven Languages To Make Me; It Would Be Nice If I Could Have Spoken Just One.

You Can't Imagine How Hard I Am On Myself. Nothing Pummels Me Like My Own Doubts, The Feeling Of How Far I Still Have To Go.

Sometimes No Length Of String Is Long Enough To Say The Thing That Needs To Be Said. In Such Cases All The String Can Do, In Whatever Its Form, Is Conduct A Person's Silence.

The Accolades, Just Like The Scrapes And Bruises, Fade In The End, And All You're Left With Is Your Ambition.

The Clarity Was Startling And Samson Wondered Whether He Was Imagining These Moments. Not That They Hadn't Happened At All, But That They Had Been Embellished By Details From Elsewhere, Fragments That Survived The Obliteration Of Other Memories, Vagrant Data That Gravitated And Stuck To What Was Left To Remember. But In The End He Rejected This Idea. The Memories Were Too Perfect: Take One Detail Away And They Collapsed Into Disorder.