Also, I've spent an entire week without reading any books or talking about them too loudly. I'm learning to work my apparat's screen, the colourful pulsating mosaic of it, the fact that it knows every last stinking detail about the world, whereas my books only know the minds of their authors.

I read real books. On paper. You know, those printed books? I feel like this is the last thing I do to support my industry. I think they smell great, too.

The radio station was playing Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake, a sure sign that things were much worse than they appeared.

I feel safe with him because he is so not my ideal and I feel like I can be myself because I'm not in love with him.

If I still lived in Russia, I'd be dead... or a really effective oligarch.

You are not what you want. You are what wants you back.

I love Paul Giamatti - God, that man is like a walking Chekhov. His connection to humanity is unbelievable, and those feelings of low self-esteem - the way that all comes together on the screen? Delicious.