I'm astounded whenever I finish something. Astounded and distressed. My perfectionist instinct should inhibit me from finishing: it should inhibit me from even beginning. But I get distracted and start doing something. What I achieve is not the product of an act of my will...
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Anonymous
In this world we're all travelers on the same ship that has set sail from one unknown port en route to another equally foreign to us
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Anonymous
I don't complain about the horror of life
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Anonymous
What could anyone confess that would be worth anything or serve any useful purpose? What has happened to us has either happened to everyone or to us alone
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Anonymous
