Concentration is one of the happiest things in my life.

Spend your money on the things money can buy. Spend your time on the things money can’t buy.

In long-distance running the only opponent you have to beat is yourself, the way you used to be.

The power to concentrate was the most important thing. Living without this power would be like opening one’s eyes without seeing anything.

How can the mind be so imperfect?" she says with a smile. I look at my hands. Bathed in the moonlight, they seem like statues, proportioned to no purpose. "It may well be imperfect," I say, "but it leaves traces. And we can follow those traces, like footsteps in the snow." "Where do the lead?" "To oneself," I answer. "That's where the mind is. Without the mind, nothing leads anywhere." I look up. The winter moon is brilliant, over the Town, above the Wall. "Not one thing is your fault," I comfort her.

Colours shone with exceptional clarity in the rain. The ground was a deep black, the pine branches a brilliant green, the people wrapped in yellow looking like special spirits that were allowed to wander over the earth on rainy mornings only.

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.