He responded a few minutes later. Okay. I wrote back. Okay. He responded: Oh, my God, stop flirting with me!

Some tourists think Amsterdam is a city of sin, but in truth it is a city of freedom. And in freedom, most people find sin.

Amsterdam is like the rings of a tree: It gets older as you get closer to the center.

I feel like crying, so I must be crying, but it's impossible to tell because I'm underwater.

...And in freedom, most people find sin.

So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.

A taste so profound and complex that it can't even be compared to other tastes, only to emotions. Cheesy waffles, I was thinking, tastes like love without the fear of love's dissolution.

My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.

The only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive.

All those paper people living in their paper houses, burning the future to stay warm.

I would always love Alaska Young, my crooked neighbor, with all my crooked heart.

Because, he says, it hurts to think about things that you can't have or help. S'better not to think about it.

1337% of Pi ≈ 42

Create your own path.

And will I like being called a jazz-baby? You will love it.

Watch out for cliffs on the left. Fatal spot again.

What love we've given, we'll have forever.

The scandal of the world is what makes the offence; it is not sinful to sin in silence.

That the means of imperialist policy overshadow almost entirely its original ends has tremendous implications.

Good fortune leads one to the highest glory, But to renounce it calls for equal courage.