August has passed, and yet summer continues by force to grow days. They sprout secretly between the chapters of the year, covertly included between its pages.

We live in a world made up more of story than stuff. We are creatures of memory more than reminders, of love more than likes.

I wondered, for the first time in my life, if life was worth all the work it took to live. What exactly made it worth it?

We are not long-term beings. Not heroes of romances in many volumes. For one gesture, for one word alone, we shall make the effort. We openly admit: our creations will be temporary. We shall have this as our aim: a gesture.

Reality Hunger is more than thought-provoking; it's one of the most beautiful books I've read in a long time.

I do think ordinariness is, in a way, the enemy, but not ordinariness as the opposite of flamboyance.

Then I have some bad news for you, because humans are going to destroy each other as soon as it becomes easy enough to, which will be very soon.