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He died when I was twelve. He also had cancer, but an oncoming train cured him.
The dry humor is killing me
He knew pi to more decimal places than any sane person would want to. I sometimes joked that it was an irrational feat of memory. A maths joke. Nobody ever got it.
Truth may often be the first casualty of war, but dignity is definitely the first casualty of disease.
We might live in a multiverse of infinite wonder, but we are what we are, and can only care about what falls into our own orbit.
It wasn’t the music I listened to in my room. It lacked the uptight, self-deprecating introspective angst of my chosen groups, but God, it made you want to dance.
