He might have been naive, but he didn't care; he said he's rather die with his heart on his sleeve than end up another cynic.

Whatever you say, say nothing.

People think they know the mystery of living in your skin. They don't. There's no one who knows except the person who carts it around her own self.

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

I am of the opinion, and even more so the older I get, that it is more difficult to have hope than it is to despair. And I mean this in the sense that in order to have hope you must acknowledge the despair and then you have to get beyond it. Taken from a radio interview given on BBC Radio 4's Open Book

The point of flight. To get rid of oneself. That was reason enough to fly.

One of those out-of-the-ordinary days that made sense of the slew of ordinary days. New York had a way of doing that. Every now and then the city shook its soul out. It assailed you with an image, or a day, or a crime, or a terror, or a beauty so difficult to wrap your mind around that you had to shake your head in disbelief.