Whenever summer rolls around I begin to realize that I'm a complete and utter book snob. In relation to reading, I have absolutely no guilty pleasures at all. No graphic novels. No murder mysteries. My summer read is really no different from my winter read. I know many bookshops and magazines would have me believe that our summer forays are different, but literature is literature, and unfortunately snobbery is snobbery.

The tunnels of our lives connect, coming to daylight at the oddest moments, and then plunge us into the dark again. We return to the lives of those who have gone before us, a perplexing möbius strip until we come home, eventually, to ourselves.

Yet she likes complications. She wishes she could turn and say: I like people who unbalance me.

The Irish are great for their tunes, but all their lovesongs are sad and their warsongs happy.

One look at each other and it was immediately understood that they both needed a clean slate,,, The obliteration of memory.

You cannot read any image of the World Trade Center without thinking of 9/11.

The world spins. We stumble on. It is enough.