The most important thing we learn at school is the fact that the most important things can't be learned at school.

Instead of things I'm good at, it might be faster to list the things I can't do. I can't cook or clean the house. My room's a mess, and I'm always losing things. I love music, but I can't sing a note. I'm clumsy and can barely sew a stitch. My sense of direction is the pits, and I can't tell left from right half the time. When I get angry, I tend to break things. Plates and pencils, alarm clocks. Later on I regret it, but at the time I can't help myself. I have no money in the bank. I'm bashful for no reason, and I have hardly any friends to speak of.

I'm a writer, not a professional runner. It's fun and it helps me write. I need powerful concentration.

What we needed were not words and promises but a steady accumulation of small realities.

The library was like a second home. Or maybe more like a real home, more than the place I lived in. By going every day I got to know all the lady librarians who worked there. They knew my name and always said hi. I was painfully shy, though, and could barely reply.

In the end, like so many beautiful promises in our lives, that dinner date never came to be.

Artists are those who can evade the verbose.