I should have asked why any room in the house was better than home to me when she entered it, and barren as a desert when she went out again—why I always noticed and remembered the little changes in her dress that I had noticed and remembered in no other woman’s before—why I saw her, heard her, and touched her (when we shook hands at night and morning) as I had never seen, heard, and touched any other woman in my life?
We always imagine some future self that won’t ever get pissed off — that’ll always go to bed on time, always brush our teeth, always enjoy mind-blowing sex with our spouse on Tuesday night. And yet, Stephen Hawking begs to differ: "We are just an advanced breed of monkeys on a minor planet of a very average star."
The rushing relief was like the first drag of a cigarette. Btw, if you don't smoke too much, the final drag off a cigarette is a powerful nerve tonic. Highly recommended. I've smoked five or six cigarettes my entire life, and each one was fucking awesome. I seriously hope I don't get cancer.