It’s how I fill the time when nothing’s happening. Thinking too much, flirting with melancholy.
And the sun on the wall of her room, the block of sun with all the tiny flying things in it. When she was little she thought they were the souls of dead insects, still buzzing in the light.
It’s the pointless things that give your life meaning. Friendship, Compassion, Art, Love. All of them are pointless. But, they’re what keeps life from being meaningless.
Old Scully, who according to Jennifer, hadn’t the imagination to think the worst. Something she said once, as though neurosis was an artform.
He was free and unencumbered. Which is to say alone and unemployed.
…the past is in us, and not behind us. Things are never over.
There’s things that have no finish, Scully, no ending to speak of. There’s no justice to it, but that’s the God’s truth. The only end some things have is the end you give em.
I have never been a violent man. Just a little creepy, it seems.
And though I’ve lived to be an old man with my very own share of happiness for all the mess I made, I still judge every joyous moment, every victory and revelation against those few seconds of living.
There are no wastelands in our landscape quite like those we’ve created ourselves.