It's weird to feel like you miss someone you're not even sure you know.

[I]f the writer does his job right, what he basically does is remind the reader of how smart the reader is.

I am concentrating docilely on the question why U.S. restrooms always appear to us as infirmaries for public distress, the place to reagain control.

Everything takes time. Bees have to move very fast to stay still.

There's a weird kind of paradox that the more expensive the vacation is, the more potentially anxiety-producing it is.

I was always either so unreasonably and pointlessly happy that no one place could seem to contain me, or so melancholy, so sick and silly with sadness that there was no place I could stomach the thought of entering. I hated it here. And I have never been as happy as when I was here. And these two things together confront me with the beak and claws of the True.

There is no hatred in my love for you. Only a sadness I feel all the more strongly for my inability to explain or describe it.