Bullshit, Ari. You have the harder rule to follow? Buffalo shit. Coyote shit. All you have to do is be loyal to the most brilliant guy you've ever met - which is like walking barefoot through the park. I, on the other hand, have to refrain from kissing the greatest guy in the universe - which is like walking barefoot on hot coals.
Senior year. And then life. Maybe that's the way it worked. High school was just a prologue to the real novel. Everybody got to write you -- but when you graduated, you got to write yourself. At graduation you got to collect your teacher's pens and your parents' pens and you got your own pen. And you could do all the writing.
Sometimes, you do things and you do them not because you're thinking but because you're feeling. Because you're feeling too much. And you can't always control the things you do when you're feeling too much.
Воображение все время рисует швыряемую ветром газету. То, как очередной сильный порыв бросает ее на ограду из колючей проволоки, мгновенно разрывая в клочья. Я чувствую себя этой газетой. Бог для меня все равно что этот ветер. Для него все это–игра. Он же–Бог. И тут уж как кому повезет.