I think therapy is a rather misguided notion of capitalist societies whereby the self-indulgent examination of one's life supersedes the actual living of said life.

I felt this awful obligation to be charming or at least have something to say, and the pressure of having to be charming (or merely verbal) incapacitates me.

In spite of myself, I gave a snort. "Just once, I'd like to hear a simple, straightforward prophecy.

If pain is a pot of boiling water, humor can be the rising steam.

Will knelt beside me. I wished I could have taken a holo of him at that moment and played it for him the next time he kicked me out of his room. He never would believe he was the same brother who had once tried to knock me out with a pillow.

For the next several minutes nothing much happened, biscuit wise.