This must be what an addict feels like, I think,
trying to fight the pull of one last, quick read. My fingers itch toward the binding, and finally, with a sigh of regret, I just grab the book and open it, hungrily reading the story.

The crisis might be what sticks in my mind, but the in-between moments are the ones I would not have missed for the world.

If you focus on sandbagging the beachhead, you can ignore the tsunami that’s approaching. Try it any other way and you’ll go crazy.

Shooting stars are not stars at all. They’re just rocks that eneter the atmosphere and catch fire under friction. What we wish on, when we see one, is just a trail of debris.

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