I never liked writing concluding paragraphs to papers - where you repeat what you've already said with phrases like 'In summation', and 'To conclude'.

‎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.

The part I enjoy most is not the doing, but the noticing.

That was the worst part about having cancer, sometimes: The physical evidence of disease separates you from other people.

Gus: "It tastes like..." Me: "Food." Gus: "Yes, precisely. It tastes like food, excellently prepared. But it does not taste, how do I put this delicately...?" Me: "It does not taste like God Himself cooked heaven into a series of five dishes which were then served to you accompanied by several luminous balls of fermented, bubbly plasma while actual and literal flower petals floated down around your canal-side dinner table." Gus: "Nicely phrased." Gus's father: "Our children are weird." My dad: "Nicely phrased."

The consequences of being un-cool feel so big that a lot of times you end of not finding ways to have open and honest conversations.

I was born into Bolívar's labyrinth, and so I must believe in the hope of Rabelais' Great Perhaps.