He found himself in habiting the vast, empty plateau where most people live, between boredom and contentment.

I wrote short stories for seven years and used to mail them out. You couldn't send them by e-mail. I called them manila boomerangs. I'd seal the self-addressed stamped envelope inside an envelope and I'd mail it off, and it would come back six weeks later with a rejection letter in it.

He found himself in habiting the vast, empty plateau where most people live, between boredom and contentment.

He considered it a shame when people couldn't grasp the infinite-a failure not just of imagination but of simple vision.

Some memories remain close; you can shut your eyes and find yourself back in them. But there are second-person memories, too, distant you memories, and these are trickier: you watch yourself in disbelief.

All we have is the story we tell.

You have to do disappointment twice.