twenty-eight years and a million words
Still feeling vindicated in riding my bike to work in some chilly conditions. The alternative, well, just ain't the better way. Despite falling yesterday, I can't overstate how great it is to be riding again, it's like feeling alive after being in a coma.
The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to such a pass that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love, and in order to occupy and distract himself without love he gives way to passions and coarse pleasures, and sinks to bestiality in his vices, all from continual lying to other men and to himself.
—Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov