“My story can never be told. I write it over and over, wherever we find shelter. I write of what I cannot speak, the truth. I write all I know of it, then I throw the pages to the wind. Maybe the birds can read it.”
"It is quite unhealthy, but they are so feverishly, manically in love with each other. They can't be away from each other and they can't be near each other at the same time." - Jacob Anderson
Person B: [smirks in disdain] Well, you’re not wrong. Person C has a better chance at wrestling a bear.
Person A: You know what? Unless you have some great idea about how to save us, why don’t you keep lost-weekending? I’m sure all the partying and snacking completely fills the void of your useless, apathetic life.
Person B, nonchalant: Hm, devastating. Clearly I have no choice but to prove how wrong you are by hauling myself out of bed and saving your whiny ass.