Start making excuses and there's no end to it. I can't live that kind of life.

I said nothing for a time, just ran my fingertips along the edge of the human-shaped emptiness that had been left inside me.

I collect records. And cats. I don't have any cats right now. But if I'm taking a walk and I see a cat, I'm happy.

Sometimes I find it too hot to run, and sometimes too cold. Or too cloudy. But I still go running. I know that if I didn't go running, I wouldn't go the next day either. It's not in human nature to take unnecessary burdens upon oneself, so one's body soon becomes disaccustomed. It mustn't do that. It's the same with writing. I write every day so that my mind doesn't become disaccustomed.

Life doesn't require ideals. It requires standards of action.

And her sleep was too long and deep for that:so deep that she left her normal reality behind.

The facts and techniques or whatever they teach you in class isn't going to be veryuseful in the real world, that's for sure.