What am I? How am I connected? What is my purpose? What is all of this, felt in the flesh? Why is it so beautiful? What is beautiful? Why do I not know? What else don't I know? When will I know it? Will I ever know? Would knowing be too much?

A quell'epoca, io stavo cercando l'oblio, e cercavo in quei volti assenti, anonimi, anche nei più penosamente familiari, una specie di innocua fuga. Una morte che non significasse essere morti.

Do you understand? Nothing thrives without being broken. Nothing exists without being dead first.

I looked not for shooting stars but for fixed ones, and I would try to imagine what kind of life lived in those celestial tidal pools so far from us.

What is too much to bear? Not being alive is too much to bear.

There might be life, right under our noses. But there’s always been life right under our noses – we’re just too blind to see it. These fucking questions – they don’t matter.

E' così che la follia del mondo prova a impossessarti di te: penetrando dall'esterno, costringendoti a vivere nella sua realtà.