I hear the sounds of melting snow outside my window every night and with the first faint scent of spring, I remember life exists
I just. . . knew, the way you know how to breathe or to pull your hand back from a hot stove.
Sometimes, as much as writing saves one’s own life, you cannot imagine how it will save another’s. This is another reason why it is important to do the work, over and over again. It is food, the kind a soul needs.
Better to be strong than pretty and useless.
What you cannot escape, you must fight; what you cannot fight, you must endure.
Christophe, with the careful tone of an adult telling a kid not to pet the nice foaming-rabid pooch.
People don’t really want to know anything about you. They just want you to fit into their little predetermined slots. They decide what you are in the first two seconds, and they only get nervous or upset if you don’t live up to their snap judgments.
I am just like everybody else. . . because there is nobody like me in the whole world.
I think animals should be free. There's so much other food out there that doesn't have to involve you in that cycle of pain and death.
When you're attacking a router on the internet, and you're doing it remotely, it's like trying to shoot the moon with a rifle. Everything has to happen exactly right. Every single variable has to be controlled and precisely accounted for. And that's not possible to do when you have limited knowledge of the target you're attacking.
What made you feel that stomach-churning agony for one person and not another? If Bridget were God, she would have made it against the law for you to feel that way about someone without them having to feel it for you right back.