I think writing would have happened to me anyway, somehow. Differently, but it still would have happened.

Nature is one great big wood-chipper. Sooner or later, everything shoots out the other end in a spray of blood, bones and hair.

Being asked what animal you'd like to be is a trick question; you're already an animal.

Death without the possibility of ever changing the world is the same as a life that never was.

You know what the best thing is about the end of the day? Tomorrow, it starts all over again.

Earth was not built for six billion people all running around and being passionate about things. The world was built for about two million people foraging for roots and grubs.

Give parents the tiniest of confidences and they'll use them as crowbars to jimmy you open and rearrange your life with no perspective. Sometimes I'd just like to mace them. I want to tell them that I envy their upbringings that were so clean, so free of futurelessness. And I want to throttle them for blindly handing over the world to us like so much skid-marked underwear.