Scenery Without Solace Is Meaningless.

In Heaven, There Is No Judgment, But Rather An Opportunity To Examine Our Lives-who We Touched, The Choices We Made, And The Consequences Of Those Choices.

A Man Who Can Take Anything Will Find Most Things Unsatisfying. And A Man Without Memories Is Just A Shell.

We All Lose Somebody We Care About And Want To Find Some Comforting Way Of Dealing With It, Something That Will Give Us A Little Closure, A Little Peace.

I Hope You Never Hear Those Words. Your Mom. She Died. They Are Different Than Other Words. They Are Too Big To Fit In Your Ears. They Belong To Some Strange, Heavy, Powerful Language That Pounds Away At The Side Of Your Head, A Wrecking Ball Coming At You Again And Again, Until Finally, The Words Crack A Hole Large Enough To Fit Inside Your Brain. And In So Doing, They Split You Apart.

As Mankind Grew Obsessed With Its Hours, The Sorrow Of Lost Time Became A Permanent Hole In The Human Heart. People Fretted Over Missed Chances, Over Inefficient Days; They Worried Constantly About How Long They Would Live, Because Counting Life’s Moments Had Led, Inevitably, To Counting Them Down. Soon, In Every Nation And In Every Language, Time Became The Most Precious Commodity.