I stare at this ceaseless, rushing crowd and imagine a time a hundred years from now. In a hundred years everybody here-me included-will have disappeared from the face of the earth and turned into ashes or dust. A weird thought, but everything in front of me starts to seem unreal, like a gust of wind could blow it all away.

Probably." "Again with the probablys." "A world full of probablys," she said.

There's no such thing as perfect writing, just like there's no such thing as perfect despair.

It doesn’t matter how old I get, but as long as I continue to live I’ll always discover something new about myself.

It was a small room with dim light coming in the window, reminiscent of old Polish films.

What gave money its true meaning was its dark-night namelessness, its breathtaking interchangeability.

Now all you can do is wait. It must be hard for you, but there is a right time for everything. Like the ebb and flow of tides. No one can do anything to change them. When it is time to wait, you must wait.