I'm fucked up, tore down.

Fall in love with someone who tastes like adventure but looks like the calm, beautiful morning after a terrible storm.

I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling.

“Happy are those who take life day by day, complain very little, and are thankful for the little things in life.”