I want to address the stories told to The New York Times by five women named Abby, Rebecca, Dana, Julia who felt able to name themselves and one who … - Louis C.K.

I'm buying a Cinnabon … at the airport … I arrived at. You understand why that's extra disgusting, right? Because when you're at the airport you're leaving from, you can say, "Oh, I gotta eat. I need some food, because I might be trapped in the sky forever, so I should eat right now." But I've landed. The trip is over. I'm 20 minutes from my house, where I got bananas and apples and shit. And I'm sitting on my luggage just fucking eating a Cinnabon with a fork and knife.

Because we don't want the first bit of sad, we put it away with phone,*beep*, for the food, you get a little fell kind of. You're never feel completely sad or completely happy, just feel kind of satisfied with your product. And then you die.

Self-love is a good thing but self-awareness is more important. You need to once in a while go ‘Uh, I’m kind of an asshole.