Sometimes it hurts bad. The longing for the past is like a tangible physical torture. Oh, God, I wanted to remember every moment of my life. I didn’t want to forget anything. If I could remember, then the passing seconds might have some meaning or be amassing into some definition or purpose. […] The burden of all those memories creates in me a yearning for the quiet I imagine would come with a giant heroin overdose or if I shoved my skull under the wheel of a moving bus.
Ash Wednesday by Ethan Hawke