I am here, alone, at the end of the world. I reach out and touch nothing.”.

When you see runners in town is easy to distinguish beginners from veterans. The ones panting are beginners; the ones with quiet, measured breathing are the veterans. Their hearts, lost in thought, slowly tick away time. When we pass each other on the road, we listen to the rhythm of each other's breathing, and sense the way the other person is ticking away the moments.

Memories and thoughts age, just as people do. But certain thoughts can never age, and certain memories can never fade.

There's not much you can do about time - it just keeps on passing. But experience? Don't tell me that. I'm not proud of it, but I don't have any sexual desire. And what sort of experience can a writer have if she doesn't feel passion? It'd be like a chef without an appetite.

We never choose anything at all. Things happen. Or not.

We all die and disappear, but that's because the mechanism of the world itself is built on destruction and loss.

There had to be something wrong with my life. I should have been born a Yugoslavian shepherd who looked up at the Big Dipper every night.