I am made for running. Because when you run, you could be anyone. You hone yourself into a body, nothing more or less than a body. You respond as a body, to the body. If you are racing to win, you have no thoughts but the body's thoughts, no goals but the body's goals. You obliterate yourself in the name of speed. You negate yourself in order to make it past the finish line.

Bad Girl!" She chided. "I'm pretty sure Boris is a boy," I said. "Oh, I know," Mrs. Basil E. assured me. "I just like to keep him confused," Then she and Boris headed off with my future.

How sad it must be for you to be nothing more than a hollow statue, to have your tomb preserved and your story forgotten.

You went and broke our lives. You are so much worse than a cheater. You killed something. And you killed it when its back was turned.

There's no way to release yourself from a memory. It ends when it wants to end, whether it's in a flash or long after you've begged it to stop.

I have taken advantage of other people's weaknesses in order to cover my own.

Sometimes memory tricks you. Sometimes beauty is best when it's distant.