But there is something beautiful about failure. One cannot ever get too much of it to be sick of it.
“Intelligence” is a funny word to explain this linguistic, social tendency, since insects do it all the time and no one considers them intelligent.
Listen to yourself. What do you hear?
Everything you know about your place in the universe and what will happen to your soul has gone has gone from snuggling comfortably on the couch in fuzzy PJs to, well, imagining that you may burn in hell if you are wrong.
People have always told me that I’m good at being a chameleon. People have also always told me that I am fake and manipulative.
What if there is no right answer?
The devil exists to give our lives events.
How long have I been both leaf and insect? Am I equal parts both? If I weren’t, what would be the difference, upon death?
Imagine a more pensive and less adventurous Jack Kerouac being not necessarily “on the road,” but on the toilet.
I just met you; this is crazy.