Once upon a time there was a crooked tree and a straight tree. And they grew next to each other. And every day the straight tree would look at the crooked tree and he would say, “You’re crooked. You’ve always been crooked and you’ll continue to be crooked. But look at me! Look at me!” said the straight tree. He said, “I’m tall and I’m straight.” And then one day the lumberjacks came into the forest and looked around, and the manager in charge said, “Cut all the straight trees.” And that crooked tree is still there to this day, growing strong and growing strange.
Kneller, Wristcutters: A Love Story
I just want to live somewhere big, somewhere upbeat, where things are moving, that never sleeps. Somewhere that I can dance around the streets and photograph the beautiful people that pass. Somewhere I can look out the window and see people all about me, where I can watch things happen. Somewhere I can start fresh and not know a single person, meet new people and start new relationships, do things the way I’d like, see things from a new perspective. Somewhere that will rain a lot so I can watch it from the window seat in my apartment and all the umbrellas walking past below will smile up at me and remind me I am home.
The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them — words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a tellar but for want of an understanding ear.