“Don’t even think about it.You’ll never catch that big fish with your small hook.”

“Don’t do it,” the voice calmly said from the other side of the door. “Ihave a way that you will be able to see your wife and son again.”

“The only rule is that you can't cross this line. If the ball hits you, you'reout. If someone catches a ball you throw, you're out. We'll keep playing until there are five of you left,” Dinkleman explained.I thought to myself, “What the fuck? That was like, four rules, not one.”

“Daniel exposed his machete-like fangs much to the delight of Hartwell, who was gasping for air like a fish out of water. He furiously bit into Hartwell’s neck and drank his blood until he could sense the injured party slipping away. The beauty of a life on the edge did not escape Daniel at this moment. He wiped his mouth clean of Hartwell’s blood and then bit into his own wrist, while also using his powerful mind to pry open Hartwell’s mouth.Daniel’s blood flowed through the body at rest and shot around Hartwell’s veins like he had ingested a case of energy drinks.”

“With every plus there must be a minus; with every tear there must be a smile; and for every skunk there must be a fragrant flower. We live our lives in fear of dying and we overlook the simple truth that living is all we can control. Never too high, never too low will get you stuck in the middle of the road. A sense of equilibrium is needed to see life as it is, not what you would like it to be.”

“I reached into the pile and pulled out a few connected chips and then was about to shove them into my mouth, when I saw what appeared to be the face of an angel sitting next to me. And, if it was in fact my actual guardian angel, then it probably would have been poor form not to offer a few chips to extend an olive branch.”

“Gil sat baking in the sun for at least 45 minutes before one of the tour guides noticed him looking listless and leaning to his left side. As she approached him, she noticed that he had a stupid grin on his face.“Are you all right, Mr. Cohen?” she asked as she tried to slowly help him to his feet.His shirt was drenched with sweat and his skin was mostly clammy, signally that he was suffering from the middle stages of heat stroke.“It’s not so bad?” he muttered as he struggled to stand straight up. “What not so bad, Mr. Cohen?” one of the tour guides asked.“Death,” Gil stated in a glazed response.The guide looked at the heat-stricken man who appeared to have amoment of clarity amidst all of the sweat and dehydration. “Why is death not so bad?” she pressed on. Gil took a big swig of Gatorade and replied, “Because life wasn’t so great.”