the search for that perfect moment that is beyond words and comprehensibility is both never-ending and universal — yet we do it all the same. it always frustrates us, and still we'll do it. over and over again.

it's the seeking without end, the pursuit without satisfaction.

how sad!

and even so — even still — how beautiful!

in this book, addicts can at least lay claim to the virtue of honesty regarding their insatiability. wouldn't it be a be a better world if we were just the slightest bit like them in that regard?