I tried to think about other things. I tried to invent optimistic inventions. But the pessimistic ones were extremely loud.

It's so beautiful at this hour. The sun is low, the shadows are long, the air is cold and clean. You won't be awake for another five hours, but I can't help feeling that we're sharing this clear and beautiful morning.

What? she said once to herself, and then once aloud, What? She felt a total displacement, like a spinning globe brought to a sudden halt by the light touch of a finger. How did she end up here, like this? How could there have been so much - so many moments, so many people and things, so many razors and pillows, timepieces and subtle coffins - without her being aware? How did her life live itself without her?

The bruises go away, and so does how you hate, and so does the feeling that everything you receive from life is something you have earned.

What kind of world would we create if three times a day we activated our compassion and reason as we sat down to eat, if we had the moral imagination and the pragmatic will to change our most fundamental act of consumption?

The gift is for you...The surprise is for me.

It broke my heart into more pieces than my heart was made of, why can't people say what they mean at the time?