“They were not half living, or quarter living. They were simply so many bags of bones in which sparks of life fluttered faintly.”

“In what disorder we lived, how many fragments of ourselves were scattered, as if to live were to explode into splinters.”

“And so I am an American and I have lived half my life in Paris, not the half that made me but the half in which I made what I made.”

“A life lived in fear… is a life half-lived.”

“It just showed once again that half the world doesn’t know how the other three quarters live.”

“I woke up, a bag of bones. Literally. They had gathered up my bones and put them in a bag and thrown the bag into a river.”

“Life was short, no matter how many days you were granted. And people were precious, each and every one, no matter how many you were lucky enough to have in your life. And love… love was worth dying for.
Worth living for, too. -Tohrment”

“So how, children, does the brain, which lives without a spark of light, build for us a world full of light?”

“Had they known at these moments to be quietly joyful? Most likely not. People mostly did not know enough when they were living life that they were living it.”

“They were all in their early thirties. An age at which it is sometimes hard to admit that what you are living is your life.”