But this thing, whatever it was, this mistlike something, hung there inside my body like a certain kind of potential. I wanted to give it a name, but the word refused to come to mind. I’m terrible at finding the right words for things. I’m sure Tolstoy would have been able to come up with exactly the right word

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.

Don't feel sorry for yourself. Only arseholes do that.

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

Time weighs down on you like an old, ambiguous dream. You keep on moving, trying to sleep through it. But even if you go to the ends of the earth, you won't be able to escape it. Still, you have to go there- to the edge of the world. There's something you can't do unless you get there.

Some people think literature is high culture and that it should only have a small readership. I don't think so... I have to compete with popular culture, including TV, magazines, movies and video games.

Most runners run not because they want to live longer, but because they want to live life to the fullest.