I'm starting to accept that I have to grow up at one point or another... I just don't want to lose the euphoria and runny nosed, dizzy headed nostalgia that make me so glad to be alive. I want to always be able to fly down a hill on my bike and feel the wind on my face and the bliss building up in my lungs and heart. I want my fingers to tingle with anticipation and tears to cling to my eyelashes as I turn to the last page of a beautiful book.

I love forgetting how breathtaking life can be only to feel it washing over me again.

Why the body sometimes decides to randomly expel blood from the nose, I'll never know! It looks badass though...

"I have scars on my hands from touching certain people. Once, in the park, when Franny was still in the carriage, I put my hand on the downy pate of her head and left it there too long. Another time, at Loew's Seventy-second Street, with Zooey during a spooky movie. He was about six or seven, and he went under the seat to avoid watching a scary scene. I put my hand on his head. Certain heads, certain colors and textures of human hair leave permanent marks on me. Other things, too. Charlotte once ran away from me, outside the studio, and I grabbed her dress to stop her, to keep her near me. A yellow cotton dress I loved because it was too long for her. I still have a lemony-yellow mark on the palm of my right hand. Oh God, if I'm anything by a clinical name, I'm a kind of paranoiac in reverse. I suspect people of plotting to make me happy."