Most of the other visitors were chained to their audio guides, looking only at what their little headsets told them was worth seeing.
It was possible, probable even, that the world could be rebuilt.
My siblings and I had this theory that my parents were spies. 
The bathroom was made of the finest materials, but underneath it all was nothing but shit. 
No one is anything more than a cloud that vanishes, and the best anyone could hope for was not to be the last. 
I think all parents have a double life. 
There's no such thing as a problem that's yours and not mine. 
Why are children so much smarter than adults? 