Even the memory of cradling her in my arms is pure euphoria. And all that I ask out of life is that it be constant and unending euphoria.

Sometimes the good memories are just as painful as the bad ones.

I assumed that looking back reminded older guys of what they had shot at and missed, the what-ifs, the good memories, the bad, the people left behind, the people who moved on.

Bad memories were hard enough, but it was torture to be haunted by the good.