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“Claire continued. "There's a complexity of... looking forward to something. Being scared it doesn’t live up to your hope... like second dates... or returning to Cancun... or being in love with a stranger, hoping they never love you. It’s not that you prefer the concept or the excitement of the beginning. It’s the fear that a future with someone won’t be as nice as you hoped it would be. I would hate that, Brit. It'd crush me. It's like when you tell a person you like them—it always dips. It gets awkward. The expectation of it. I feel some things are best left at 'Hello.' Like, I write about living in a forest away from everyone, but I can’t tell if that’s the future I want or only enjoy writing about.”

Falling In LoveComplicatedVulnerabilityFear Of FailureGuardedThe Goodbye SongFear Of ChangeLies We Tell OurselvesFear Of Relationships
Book:The Goodbye Song
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“All I cared about was if the shot was pretty,' she said. 'You're a young filmmaker and you get a nice lens and the dailies can make it seem like you got a movie, but you don’t. You start editing it and realize you’re left with a bunch of beautiful images, but no story. Everyone on set is too easily impressed by a nice camera. And then there’s the writing. I guess it’s a pet peeve—when perfect people write in disease or abuse in order to make a story emotional. It hurts me. There doesn’t need to be cancer or death. I would cry at a simple line—like... a sad husband telling his wife that he’s concerned their dog is the only thing that keeps their marriage interesting.”

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Book:The Goodbye Song
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“I kinda like being sick. A very strong fever. It’s the perfect condition. You get to have someone take care of you. You feel cold all day, so you snuggle up in a blanket and shiver and sweat. Warm music. The only thing you can think about is how weak your body is, so you get to forget about the rest of the world for a couple days. And my body can finally know how my brain feels like every day. Nothing matters, except how terrible your pain is. It’s like a meditation. An alignment. Then to top it all off, there’s the hope and assurance you’ll get better soon.”

MeditationBoredomSicknessFunny QuotesFeverThe Goodbye SongBeing SickGetting BetterStaying At HomeSecret Pleasure
Book:The Goodbye Song
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“He looked down at baby Jesus’ feet and could see the etched marks of previously grazed fingers. Everyone loved to adore the feet of statues. And Andrei could see why—baby Jesus had adorable toes. Andrei turned back at the older Jesus on the cross, hanging from the ceiling, and looked at his feet that were nailed. There was something about feet that never aged. Even with a little hair, feet seemed the body part of human beings that lived unblemished and pure. Their evolution had not gone far from what they were before, growing merely in size and always coveting that soft layer of perfect, glistening skin wrapped over veins. They were a part of the body men could trust—a piece of flesh that stayed childish and weird. The heel was not only the closest contact one had with the earth, but one of the most untouched areas of the body. Few people cup their hands to hold another’s heel. The heel was always away, underneath the fabric of a sock, on the bottom of one’s anatomy, deep down and far from immediate openings for conventional contact such as the hands, arms, and lips. A deep impression remained in Andrei: the image of man’s feet was quite angelic.”

GodReligionJesusFeetCatholicismToesAngelsStatuesSaintsBaby Jesus
Book:A Happy Ghost
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“If only I could know I’m dead... and think about my death... I’ll miss the thinking... my own opinions... consciousness... something to experience something...looking down and seeing my hands... Wow... hello mind... I know my fingers so well... I like them... okay...what’s going to happen now?... I feel it, I feel it, it’s coming, right here, right here, hurry... This was all so lucky.”

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Book:The Goodbye Song
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“We’retryingtopushthroughthepausesandsithere.Andeach second that goes by proves how much we pathetically want the other person. But we aren’t saying that. It’s like, for example, a first date —both parties are already vulnerable because they showed up. But it’s never said. It's so funny. It’s like when people front so much that the room could literally be on fire and they’d be like “Are you hot?” “No, I’m fine, I’m actually kinda cold,” and then they burn to death, never admitting that their faces are literally melting.”

LyingVulnerabilityTelling The TruthBeing SingleThe Goodbye SongAwkwardnessDating SomeoneElephant In The RoomFirst DatesAwkward Silences
Book:The Goodbye Song
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“The face Isaac made when bonding with his aluminum toy would have made you smile. The innocence of it. It was one of those mind-lending activities that make us like people—like spying on someone playing the piano or solving a puzzle. Every person looks like a child when de-seeding a pomegranate. If you watch someone open a juice box, however old, you’ll see them young again—their soft, wondering face. It’s one of the most ephemeral beauties for the eyes to partake in.”

ReflectionAttractionInnocenceMaturityAdolescenceGetting OldThe Goodbye SongImmaturityBeing A KidInnocence And Age
Book:The Goodbye Song
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“I'm in my room, consuming, cyber, and confused. I don't remember the last time I made something Besides blunts, cum, minimum wage, bad grades, a noose. Sometimes I know I'm just twiddling my thumbs in front of a screen, That the songs about the money make me fake feel rich too. That the porn gets weirder, life gets shorter, and I eat shit stew. That these unrealistic characters I play make me feel strong. That I'm screaming at plastic that did nothing wrong. That I'm hurting and escaping and yearning and breaking. That underneath this hole, I may actually have some flair. Sometimes I'd like to leave my room and go see what's out there. Would you like to go with me?”

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Book:Can I Tell You Something?
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“I miss her so much. So much. I can’t sleep. I just cry. Sometimes when I’m in bed, and my arm loses circulation, or my leg is in a weird position, I think of her. Her stiffness. I just lay there, with my body, frozen, imagining if that’s what she feels like... I lay my tongue out like this, all dry." He deforms himself. "I twist my wrist, and I tell her, 'Goodnight.”

GriefTraumaHospitalsInsomniaThe Goodbye SongComaLosing A Loved OneBrain InjuryComa Patients
Book:The Goodbye Song
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“I think passions are a matter of chance. An unfair demand disguised as practicality. The most honest people I’ve ever met were those who didn’t know what to do with their life. I don’t blame them. We deserve to be, like, island people. Computer engineers. What would they call their passion if they were born 500 years ago? Right, then their passion would be architecture. But if computers didn’t exist then, and Jimmy loves programming...writing code... the sound of keyboards... and the specific glow of a computer screen... then you can call him lucky. There’s a good chance many of our passions haven’t been invented yet.”

FearCareersMoralityThe Goodbye SongPassionsPurposelessnessCareers In ArtFollowing Your DreamNot Knowing Life PurposeNot Knowing What To Do
Book:The Goodbye Song
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“At any given moment, everyone walks around with a laundry machine of vocabulary. Words spin and cycle in heads after fresh loads of new people, new ideas, and new encounters. This laundry machine of vocabulary hints at what we’re interested in, learning of, struggling with, and thinking about. It changes every few months. If you stick with a person long enough, while they may not confess to you that their family is dying, you wonder why they always come back to words like, “polka-dots,” “temperature” or phrases like “getting old” or “good morning, doc!”

GriefVulnerabilityPrivacySecretsVocabularyMissing SomeoneThe Goodbye SongConversationsSubtextMissing A Loved One
Book:The Goodbye Song
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“Dried leaves that stomp on other dried leaves-- This is man. Snails pretending to have tortoise shells-- This is man. We're so good, aren't we, at saying we're not cold-- Assuring others even as we shiver and turn blue. But I know you're lying, you might as well fold, Because I'm pretending to be pink while shivering, too.”

TruthLyingPoetryFearRelationshipsPrideVulnerabilityFragilityFacadesExposing Fears
Book:Can I Tell You Something?
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“Here’s one thing I can offer you C, and I’ll be brief. Please consider the budget. The company spends too much on food meant to allure newcomers. We invite people to events and say there’s Chipotle, and do you know comes? People who like Chipotle. We put our cause on the bottom of our newsletters and the “FREE FOOD” goes bright and center and we wonder why no one stays. If people want to come, they’ll come. We don’t need guacamole. We need people who are hungry for our mission.”

BusinessMissionsEntrepreneurshipHypocrisyPhilanthropyThe Goodbye SongStarting A BusinessResigningFree FoodChipotle
Book:The Goodbye Song
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“Just because they write something In this font And break apart their lines To rhyme To dramatize To imitate Doesn’t make what they say true. And quotations marks Don’t make sentences “life conclusions.” A post, a page, A billboard, or a wallpaper— Let it swirl for a few and if you want to spit it out, Vomit. If you want to keep it, Let it ride shotgun. But argue with it first. Debate. Don’t simply accept it Because you may By accident Accept a monster Disguised As a poem.”

TechnologyCivilizationDebateWritersRebellionPersuasionStatus QuoModern LifeBrainwashingThe Digital Age
Book:Can I Tell You Something?
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“And when we go to sleep, we ought to greet the bed completely out of breath from the day. We must have tree sap on our hands from climbing. Sand in our pockets and not know how. There must be some fresh wound on our body somewhere—a cut on the ankle, a bruised eye, or a chipped tooth. Our lips are to be kissed by anyone happy, our fingernails dirty, and we might have brought a bug or two home with us. On our wrist should be two bracelets: one from the hospital and another from the concert that got us there. We should have freed the heart in a streak of spoken desire, kind attempts to hold another hand, and by missing a thousand former lovers that you wish the best. We must find a way to revel in the dissatisfaction of a weary heart.”

TryingRiskAdventureGrowth MindsetOvercoming FearExhaustionThe Goodbye SongTrying New ThingsRisk And RewardTrying Again
Book:The Goodbye Song
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“Everything was predictable. Cinema had act structures. Music had beats. Poets had tricks. Books had arcs. Food tasted delicious as long as it was on the surface of one’s tongue. Any chance of happiness was but one single carousel round, so naturally, after a while, the passenger felt expired. To Andrei, there ceased to be anything worth chasing and this feeling of “running out” in an abundant globe confused him. He wished there was something in the world that was infinite or lasted forever—or was at least worth remembering forever. This was why the sleeper could not dream—his imagination writhed in his true-to-life gluttony.”

LifeArtDreamsSocietyBoredomAdulthoodMonotonyBeing BoredA Happy Ghost
Book:A Happy Ghost
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“I’ve gotten it wrong," he said. He always tried to grasp life by zooming out. That was his generation. They were fast with science and believed in the cosmos, and conceptualized reality in academic comfort which made them superior to it. They argued life had no meaning and said things like, “We’re just smart animals on an uncaring rock.” But at some point, a person trying to organize their life with reason would be stuck in infinity. There was nothing to reason with. And so they had to return— return to the monotony that meant something a second time. “My mom,” he dreamed, “once cried to me when she saw a bird chirping on her fence... real, bucket tears. She used to tell me her dreams which always meant something... A grown woman who used to pick up sticks she found pretty and keep them in her bag...She was always sweating...” There was a dumbness to her he could never understand. Andrei’s mother, so pathetically an earthling, lived in touch with humanity, and was involved in it so deeply that no intelligent, zoomed- out mind could ever comprehend. “I don’t want concepts. There is nowhere else to go in life except toward each other.”

LifeHumanityHuman BeingsGrowing UpDreamsCivilizationEmotionsBoredomMothersSensitivity
Book:A Happy Ghost
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“And suddenly the motorcyclist felt ignited, that was, in the most subtle spark of need: to live in that alternate, finer side of life that was within reach and waited to be taken. It occurred to him what he wanted. And as that butterfly of chance flew past the biker’s soul, he eyed it and caught the white-winged sign instantly. There, he said to himself, I’ll go. And he attended to that meteoric obligation—that dear, vivacious reality unveiled by leaping humans. The biker wanted to see what a certain future looked like, and excitedly leaned back on his Triumph, released the clutch, and pushing off on the rubber footrests, leaned high up in the air to his right and threw himself off the bike.”

PhilosophyRealityCourageFateRiskBraveryWillBikersMotorcycles
Book:A Happy Ghost
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“He had tried so hard that day. Andrei looked toward the smoke, searching for a face, and found none. He knew there was no reward for his life. It would continue to be excruciating for him to venture into the world with stakes and yet receive no friendly consolation. No audience. There were only things and him. The state of aloneness was the condition comets came with. Oh, what a hand could do! A friend! A touch on the shoulder! But this loud torment of silence would serve as the rhythm of a much larger song that played in him—the tune of ceaseless risk. The song commences at the first streak of undertaking. And the lyrics of progress are never congratulated. How could others toast to a victory they did not understand? That they could not see?”

RealityActionCourageRiskSadnessSocietyLonelinessSolitudeBraveryMelancholy
Book:A Happy Ghost
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“And this ghost believed he was in the last phase of life. He considered his anesthesia an inevitable chapter of a human being. After a certain amount of naked bodies, blood on the walls, and vomit on the floor, the color white will look gray. Once he surrendered to gray, the uncaring world proved his worldview. He walked the sunny streets and knew no passerby would ever save him from his rainstorm. He could cry all the way to work and back unstopped. The unconcern of the world confirmed to him that he was a ghost, not only because he was deadened from the hotel, but because when he left and stepped outside it, he knew, indisputably, everyone else was dead to everyone else. To be alive is to play the role of ghost.”

SocietyLonelinessSolitudeDepressionIndifferenceGhostsNumbnessA Happy Ghost
Book:A Happy Ghost
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