Sacrifice, that's what we do for the people we love.

I can’t imagine what it would be like to have had her company in my head—the comfort that would’ve brought.

It feels like the city is telling secrets down here, privy only to those who think to listen.

Travelling's not something you're good at. It's something you do. Like breathing. You can't work too much at it, or it feels like work. You have to surrender yourself to the chaos. To the accidents.

Neither sleet nor rain nor a half inch of snow will compel me to dress like a lumberjack.

So are you moving on now? Is that what brought you to the grand metropolis of Valladolid?” “No. The wind just blew me here.” “What? Like a plastic bag?” “I prefer to think of myself as a ship. Like a sailboat.

Can you move on from something when you're not sure what it is you're moving on from?