The gasoline darkened the center eight feet of the wooden slats in the bridge, running the length of the thing making a large dividing line between the right and the left of it. As the man stood with the lit match, he could only think one thing.
"Au revoir," he whispered. The match fell from his hand.
“That 99% of compulsive thinkers’ thinking is about themselves; that 99% of this self-directed thinking consists of imagining and then getting ready for things that are going to happen to them; and then, weirdly, that if they stop to think about it, that 100% of the things they spend 99% of their time and energy imagining and trying to prepare for all the contingencies and consequences of are never good…In short that 99% of the head’s thinking activity consists of trying to scare the everliving shit out of itself.”—David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest. The best book of all time. If you have a spare 1,400 pages of time….hop on board.
“Everything began to shiver and shake. There were businessmen, professional tough guys, battle scarred patriots: clutching their arm rests with whitened knuckles. I wasted everything in me trying desperately not to scream out, for I knew my voice would vainly echo within the belly of the animal. Against the force I sat, dumbly strapped to a million pounds of metal and flesh. The beast bucked and groaned. It clawed and it whined. Suddenly then, I was flying.”—Christian Tenbrook above the LAX tarmac