Whenever i love a book or story or movie i question whether physical life is but an excuse for a life in fantasy.

Nothing in reality stirrs one's spirit like whatever lives in ones mind, or is transferred by other fantastic minds.

Vienmeer, kad man atkal uzmaacas depresiivaa apaatijas vobla, mana pirmaa doma nav iet skriet vai eest avokado, bet gan arvien atcereeties, ka mirt veel nav iisti jeegas, jo veel ir tik daudz gramatu ko izlasiit un filmu ko noskatiities. Lai arii pati esiiba ir corrupt, skaudra un mokosha, it facilitates consciousness where unlimited pure fantasy can thrive.