It's like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story.

It seems to me that reality itself has a screw loose somewhere. That's why I try to keep at least myself in line as much as possible.

Your heart is like a great river after a long spell of rain, spilling over its banks. All signposts that once stood on the ground are gone, inundated and carried away by that rush of water. And still the rain beats down on the surface of the river. Every time you see a flood like that on the news you tell yourself: That’s it. That’s my heart.

It was a strange feeling, like touching a void.

In the end, like so many beautiful promises in our lives, that dinner date never came to be.

Memory is like fiction: or else it's fiction that's like memory.

Exactly. When is comes to anything halfway important, you just don't get it. It's amazing to me that you can put a piece of fiction together''Yeah, well, that's a whole different thing.'(from Honey Pie)

But the forecasters and media types were clever - they never used vague words like "maybe." No, they stuck with convenient terms for which no one could be held accountable, like "probability of precipitation.

I have to understand it, accept it, before it's too late.