‎These little contradictions are in all of us. They're in me at least. And so I forgot that I had been awake for 30 hours and kept walking, grateful to be a little boat full of water, still floating.

I leave, and the leaving is so exhilarating I know I can never go back. But then what? Do I just keep leaving places, and leaving them, and leaving them, tramping a perpetual journey?

My days had a pleasant identicalness about them. I had always liked that: I liked routine. I liked being bored. I didn’t want to but I did.

...It was nice to spend time with someone so interesting.

I don't have a favourite book, I have hundreds.

It was nice - in the dark and the quiet... and her eyes looking back, like there was something in me worth seeing.

Scared isn't a good excuse. Scared is the excuse everyone has always used.