What an odd thing a stranger is. A stranger sleeping next to you. I listen to his breathing as if it were his entire life, with its hidden processes, the pulsing of the blood in the tissues, with thousands of tiny hidden decays and combustions, which together create and maintain him.

Allie, what do the Stars tell me to do? You know I don't understand the scientific part.

The capacity of humans to believe in what seems to me highly improbable- from table tapping to the superiority of their children- has never been plumbed.

They had lied. Time was not a friend that healed all wounds ;it was the enemy that ravaged and murdered youth.

Never floss with a stranger.

What is the nature of Othering's comfort, its allure, its power (social, psychological, or economical)? Is it the thrill of belonging - which implies being part of something bigger than one's solo self, and therefore stronger? My initial view leans toward the social/psychological need for a "stranger," an Other in order to define the estranged self (the crowd seeker is always the lonely one).