But maybe the road split between: a life spent longing vs. a life that was continually surprising - Miranda July

That day I carried the dream around like a full glass of water, moving gracefully so I would not lose any of it.

He was worried she would not let him love her with the stain. He had already decided long ago, twenty or thirty minutes ago, that the stain was fine. He had only seen it for a moment, but he was already used to it. It was good. It somehow allowed them to have more.

Sadness is pathetically limited to the range of thirst, it is just a sip of emotion, tightly buckled to a frown, quenchable.